


A Bit of Serendipity

by kawakaeguri



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: And I'm not sorry, Arranged Marriage, Character Death, Cullen Smut, Cullen gives the best undead pony rides, Cullenlingus, Daddy!Cullen, Drunk Sex, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Light Dom/sub, One Night Stands, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Spanking, Sweet Cullen Rutherford, Unplanned Pregnancy, then spiraled into porn with plot, this was supposed to be sweet and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-27 02:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12571808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawakaeguri/pseuds/kawakaeguri
Summary: Lady Roselyn is on the run from an arranged marriage that she refuses to honor, ending up one night in a seedy, Lowtown tavern in Kirkwall. A handsome stranger catches her eye, resulting in the best night of her life.And an unplanned child.Dragged back to her family's Antivan estate, she is forced to marry another. But fate has a funny way of asserting itself...





	1. A Handsome Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Sweet little story about what if Cullen had a child he didn't know about? Just needed to write something smutty and with fluffy feels.

**Kirkwall, 9:36**

It smelled of stale ale and vomit. Years’, perhaps decades’, worth of grime and dust coated every surface in a thick layer. Grimacing, the young woman gingerly rested her elbows on the surface of the bar, surreptitiously watching the other patrons, trying to emulate their comfort with the tavern setting. Waving a delicate hand for the barkeep’s attention, she ordered an ale and prayed it was palatable.

It wasn’t. First off, the mug was stained and dirty. Wiping a soft finger over the rim, a thin layer of dirt smudged onto her dusky skin. Swallowing the bile that had risen to her stomach, she took a tentative sip. And almost spit it out. It was like- like…

“Watered down piss?”

Glancing up at the stranger who spoke, she choked down the ale. “It’s… not dissimilar. Not that i’d know what... piss tasted like.”

His warm amber eyes crinkled as he grinned at her, showing even white teeth. His curly blonde hair fell across a high brow, dark circles and hollowed cheekbones showed a lack of self-care and sleep, and a light layer of stubble graced a well defined chin. Handsome and stressed, it seems. “You won’t find anything better here. Or anywhere else in Lowtown, for that matter. Odd to see a lady such as yourself in a rough establishment like this one.”

She snorted. “I’m no lady, messere. Just a wanderer, looking for a better life.”

“Aren’t we all,” he sighed, taking a long draught of his own ale, trying not to gag at the taste. “Maker. It’s even worse than the last time.”

Her giggle floated through the dingy tavern, clear as a bell. He felt- well, he wasn’t sure. He shouldn’t be talking to her anways, he had a job to do. Unless, she was the one he was supposed to be watching for? He doubted it, but strangers things had happened. 

“Something on your mind?” At his raised eyebrow, she shrugged her slim shoulders, clad in worn leather armor. “You seem stressed.”

“Ah. Work, I’m afraid.” Unmarked and innocuous armor glinted in the torchlight as he turned to fully face her. “It’s just… so much to do, always, and it seems I’m the only one who can do it all.”

“Thinking of running away?” Full dark pink lips curved up in a tempting smile. He had a sudden urge to reach out a hand, touch her smooth, tan skin, curl his fingers in her short, black hair. Dark green eyes flecked with gold watched him with unconcealed amusement.

“Yes. I could be a pirate. Get a boat, find a crew, spend my time hunting treasure.”

“Childhood dream?”

“Maker’s breath, no. I hate ships. And the ocean.” Just as he hoped, she laughed again, clear and bright this time. “You?”

“Am I thinking of running away?” An odd expression clouded her eyes. “Mmm. I’d run west, I think. Travel. Maybe see what’s beyond the Hunterhorn Mountains beyond Orlais. I hear there are chimeras out there. Wouldn’t that be a sight?”

“Sounds dangerous. Do you need a bodyguard? I know a guy,” he winked at her.

 _Oh. He’s handsome._ Blushing slightly, she offered him a coy smile as she gazed up through her long, black eyelashes. “Perhaps. Then again, I’m quite picky about the company I keep. He would have to hold his own. I’ve no time to coddle anyone on my journey.”

“Oh? Well lucky for you, he’s quite capable, if I do say so myself. He’s a man of many talents.” Maker’s breath, what had gotten into him? He was never this forward with women, especially beautiful ones such as she. Maybe it was the ale. How many had he drank again? Two fresh glasses were set down in front of them.

“Does it seem to you the ale is getting better?” She took another sip, longer than her first.

“I think we’re just getting drunk,” he chuckled.

“I propose a toast then. To us. And chimeras. And… stuff,” she sighed at her inability to conjure the proper words. Glasses clinking, they drank again, chatting away the hours.

Eventually, feeling the buzz growing stronger, he glanced at the door. _Midnight now. Guess the person didn’t show. Or I missed it. Don’t think it’s her either_. “Waiting for someone? A paramour, perhaps?”

“Ah,” he flushed red, hoping he could blame it on the alcohol, “No. Just… looking,” he finished, lamely, as she smirked at him.

“Good. I had hoped you were unattached,” her voice was suddenly low and husky, a tantalizing scent of jasmine and bergamot wafting from her hair as she leaned in. Lightheaded and dry mouthed, all he could do was nod. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but I have a room up here. Third door on the left. If you’re so inclined, I wouldn’t mind some company.” With a wink of her own, she drained the rest of her ale, wiping the froth off her lips, lips he desperately wanted to taste, and sashayed out of the tavern hall, up the creaking stairs, disappearing from view.

He sat stunned for a moment, unable to believe that a woman like her would want him. She clearly wasn’t looking for more, as they had yet to even exchange names. But it was tempting. How long had it been since he had last enjoyed the company of a woman? Over a year, at least. Tempting, indeed. Slamming his own ale cup down, empty now, he strode off to find her.

Hesitantly knocking on the rough wooden door, he self consciously pushed back his unruly hair, heart pounding in his chest hard enough to shatter his ribs. The door swung open. She stood smiling in the entryway, armor having been removed to reveal plain leather leggings and a dark navy blue tunic, the neckline just open enough so he could see the swell of her breasts from above. “You came!” Her dark emerald green eyes sparkled with delight. 

Taken aback by her genuine enthusiasm, he paused. “I, uh, would be remiss to turn down such a lovely creature as yourself.” Giggling at his gallantry, she gently took his hand and drew him into the shabby room.

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable without your armor,” she purred as she drew her tunic over her head and shimmied out of her leggings, revealing a smooth expanse of skin, the color of milk with a dollop of coffee, free of any blemishes, firm breasts just on the larger side of a handful, slender waist flaring out into wide hips. She was…

“Breathtaking,” he murmured, his fingers searching for the buckles of his breastplate. Methodically, he removed each piece, setting it aside on a nearby table, never taking his eyes off of her, smirking at the blush that was rising through her chest. Tugging his shirt overhead, his chest swelled in masculine pride at the sight of her eyes widening, roaming over the well defined muscles that graced his arms and chest. Inadvertently, she took a step forward, hand outstretched. Glancing up at him, as if asking for permission, he smiled as she barely grazed the light dusting of golden blonde hair that covered his chest, smoothing across the deep blade wound and shiny burn that crisscrossed his left collarbone, hissing as her finger dragged across a puckered nipple. Emboldened by his reaction, she took another step forward, so close, he could feel the heat emanating from her skin.

“May I?” Her fingers lightly traced the skin above the hem of his smalls, sending tiny electrical jolts straight to his groin. Unable to trust his voice, he merely nodded, holding his breath as she slowly slid them down, his erection bobbing to attention, almost hitting her in the face. “Oh,” she breathed, staring at his prominent member, a hint of pearlescent fluid already gathering at the tip. With a boldness borne of alcohol and anonymity, she dropped to her knees and lapped it up with a wet, pink tongue, moaning at the taste of his musk. Unable to repress his groan, he threw an arm out against the wall to brace himself as desire unfurled down his length, all the blood rushing away from his head. “Is this okay?” a voice whispered.

“Maker, yes,” he gasped, gaze locked on her dark head as she slowly, torturously drew his head into her hot, needy mouth, lips sliding over his velvet skin, tongue massaging the underside.

“Um, you’ll have to tell me what you like. I’ve never done this before,” she smiled sheepishly. Unable to process that statement, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it around his shaft, gently pushing her head back down.

“Just move your hand like that, and, Maker, your tongue like that, yes,” hissing, his eyes fluttered closed as he felt her mouth and hands slowly unraveling his composure, pushing him toward the edge. “Stop,” he gasped, “stop, I’m too close, I’m- ooh…”

Yanking her back, he breathed, trying to force his body back into some semblance of control. “Did I do something wrong?” Brow creased with worry, she bit her lip as she watched him fight his visceral urges.

“No, my sweet.” Taking her arms, he pulled her to her feet, pressing her against his skin, relishing in her warmth. “You’re too talented, in fact. Naughty girl, trying to undo me so soon.” Rumbling low in his chest, the man’s voice sent a shiver up her spine, a shiver he did not fail to notice. Dropping his head down, his lips found her own, the sweet taste of her skin mixing with his salty arousal sending his mind spiraling out of control. Growling, he deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue further in, demanding to devour her mind, body, and soul.

Tugging him to the bed, she fell back, his toned body, broad shoulders slimming to tapered hips, cradling hers, legs wrapping around each other, straining to touch every inch of skin. Breaking free with a groan, he dipped his head down to her breast, gently trailing his tongue around the pebbled flesh, rolling her other nipple between his calloused fingers, her sighs and gasps of delight spurring him to further action. Kissing a hot, wet trail down her soft stomach, he teased at the opening of her core, marveling in the moisture and heat already gathered there. “So wet,” he rumbled, pleased with her responsiveness. Her knees moved to cover up the very thing he sought, as if suddenly embarrassed. Gently chiding, he spread her legs further apart. “I want to see all of you.” Swirling his finger in her arousal, he slowly worked a long finger in, intently observing her face as her eyes closed and her mouth opened in a moan.

“Please,” she whimpered, not knowing what it is she begged for, “please.” Always the obliging gentlemen, he worked another finger into her snug sheath, cock twitching at feeling how tight she was. Unable to control himself any longer, he surged forward, lips fastening over her sensitive pearl, harshly licking and sucking at the tender nub, curling his fingers, pounding them in and out of her dripping center as she wailed, body clenching around him.

“Let go, sweetness,” he murmured into her heat, “Come for me.” Scream cutting off midbreath, she threw her head back, fingers scrabbling at the bed for purchase, as she silently came, every nerve in her body burning with unexpected pleasure and release. Slowly she drifted back down, regarding him through lidded eyes to where he lay, still nestled between her legs.

“Oh.” She stared as he slowly withdrew his fingers, taking care to lick every drop of her fluids off of his hand, smirking at her lusty gaze. Crawling up her body, pressing kisses to her skin, nipping at her breast, he rested on his elbow, hovering above her, he teased her entrance with the head of his cock, once against hard. “Maker, you’re-”

He didn’t give her time to finish. With a forceful thrust, he slid in smoothly, breaking through a slight resistance he was unprepared for. “You’re-” He swallowed. What should he do? Pull out? Run? Jerking slightly, he watched, frozen, as her expression softened and her body relaxed. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in closer.

“Don’t stop. Please.” Suddenly oblivious to his previous concerns, he rolled his hips once within her, delighting in her tiny mewls. Satisfied that she wanted this as much as he, he set about ravaging her person, determined to make it as pleasurable and memorable as possible. Pulling back, he sat up, angling her hips up so he could thrust deeper, hitting that spot deep inside her that would make her scream. And scream she did, her fingers digging half moons into his firm biceps, the slight pain making him harder, the smell of their shared arousal filling his senses. He brought his thumb up to her mouth, hoarsely commanding her, “Lick.” Her small pink tongue darted out, swirling around his finger as she had on his other appendage just minutes earlier. With a sharp intake of breath, he slid his wet thumb down to her clit, rubbing in firm circles as he continued to pound into her, a thin sheen of sweat covering both of their bodies.

“I’m going to, ahhh-” her eyes rolled back, hips bucking to meet his, walls spasming around him. With a throaty moan, a wave of electricity shot down her skin, vision overcome by a blinding white light, barely noticing as he roared his completion, spilling thick, creamy loads of his seed deep within her.

Panting, trying to refill their depleted lungs, he rested a slick forehead against hers, balancing on his elbows, enjoying the feel of his softening member still snug inside of her. “I didn’t know, I’m-”

A finger rested against his lips, her eyes dancing. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. That was incredible.”

He smirked, pleased with her reaction. “I’m glad. I should… get cleaned up, and…” Her hand caressed his smooth cheek, a tiny curve playing at the edge of her lips.

“You could stay. For awhile.”

Nodding, he pulled out, smiling at the slight sigh from her at the loss. Grabbing his handkerchief, he wet it from the basin on the table, and gently cleaned her off, the cloth turning pink from the mixture of blood and come. “I wish I would have known, at least. I could have made it better.”

Chucking, she pulled him close, resting her head on his arm. “If anything could be better than that, it would be a sin.” Unable to wipe the ridiculous grin off his face, he wrapped his arms around her soft body, weariness overtaking him. “Sleep, handsome.” Closing his eyes, his last thought was of bliss, and the idea that he could get used to this.

Blinking heavy, sleep encrusted lids, Cullen blearily glanced around the still dark room. Where was he? Oh, that’s right, the Hanged Man, he was here undercover trying to unearth evidence of the mage underground. Two of the members were supposed to show last night, but never did. And instead, he had…

He shot up. No sign of the woman. His clothes and armor were where he left them, bag of coins still wrapped up safely. Shaking his head to clear it, he shakily pushed to his feet, the memory of last night a hazy, pleasurable blur. He wished he had at least gotten a name. Wait, there, a note. Grabbing a piece of parchment off the bedside table, he read in delicate script, ‘Thanks for the evening. -Z’. 

Just another tryst then. Smiling to himself at the burn leftover in his muscles, he pulled on his clothes. Enough dallying. He had to get back to the Gallows and report to Meredith that his search last night was unfruitful. In one way, at least.


	2. The Unknown Looms

**Four months later**

“Lady Roselyn, we’ve been searching for you for a very long time. Lord and Lady Araneta have been extremely concerned as to the state of your welfare.”

Pulling her cloak tighter around herself to ward off the Nevarran coastal winds, Roselyn scowled. “I’m sure my parents have been just besides themselves with worry over my person. I won’t go back. You cannot force me.”

“Please, my lady. Do not make this more difficult than it has to be.” Her father’s captain of the guard smiled politely down at her, as eight more armored guards moved to encircle her. She was trapped. Lowering her head in defeat, she forced herself not to scream in despair. Silently she pushed herself to stand, demanding her legs not to shake, choking a wave of nausea back as she rose. “Are you ill, my lady? Shall I fetch a healer before we depart? Otherwise, it will be two months before we make it back to Antiva.”

“Nothing I can’t handle. Let us be off.”

***

The ornate gates of the villa swung open with a faint squeal of the hinges, the glossy black carriage rolling sedately to a halt in the cobblestone courtyard. A plump, stern older woman with black hair liberally streaked with gray, swept outside, crisp white apron holding firm against the gentle breeze flowing from the Rialto Bay.

A tired, worn figure was gently handed down to the ground by a footman, heavy cloaked firmly tucked around her to ward off the chill night air, cold for the Antivan spring. The older woman curtseyed. “Lady Roselyn, welcome ba- Andraste have mercy! Your hair, child! What have you done?”

“Cut it,” Roselyn replied blandly.

“Marcus,” the woman snapped at a servant, “Take the lady’s cloak.” Holding her breath, bracing for the inevitable reaction, she allowed the man to swing her cloak off. “What is this?!” The house steward flew down the rest of the stairs. “You’re pregnant?”

“Yes.” The older woman closed her eyes, muttering a prayer under her breath.

“Well. Let’s get you inside. Your parents will be wanting to see you.” Numbly, Roselyn followed the steward into the villa, oblivious to the gilded accents and expensive tapestries that lined the walls, letting herself be ushered into a painfully familiar room. Her room. Barely noticing the servants filling up a large copper tub, she was lost in her own world as the maids stripped her of her filthy plain travel gear, grasping their hands as she slowly lowered into the water, watching as they dug around in her armoir for a dress that would fit over her slightly protruding belly.

“My lady? This one should fit.” With a mute nod, Roselyn allowed herself to be dressed like a doll as she had her entire life, hair primped and curled for the meeting with her parents. Finally ready, the maid alerted another servant that the lady was ready to be escorted to Lord Araneta’s study. Fortifying herself, she took a deep breath, straightening her spine as she was announced.

“Roselyn Zarahya Araneta, do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused us?” Standing in a plush study, lined with rich, dark wooden shelves neatly filled with all manner of books, a regal couple stood behind a massive desk. Lord Araneta, still standing strong even at his sixty years of age, gray hair swept back in a smooth wave, watching his daughter walk in, and his wife, a beautiful woman still, with a strong chin and deep mahoghany hair pulled back in a severe coiff, adorned in a crisp taffeta dress, staring out the back window. “Your betrothed has been most- AIIEEE! What is that?” Her mother screamed, an accusatory finger flung at her daughter.

“She cut her hair,” her father mused, seemingly undistressed by the whole situation. 

“I see that, Philipe. I meant her belly. She’s pregnant.”

“Oh.” Consternation creased his brow as he observed his second oldest daughter and her obvious stomach.

“Lord Villena will no longer wish to abide by the marriage contract! This _whore_ has ruined everything we have worked for!”

Sighing, her father looked at his wife, who had launched herself into the midst of a full fit of hysterics. “Go lay down, Beatrice. I will take care of this.” With a wail, she let her lady’s maid lead her out, the latter whispering soothing placations in her ear. As the door shut behind the pair, Roselyn tried not to fidget under the lord’s gaze. “Well? Anything to say for yourself?”

“No, Father.”

“Do you love him?”

“Who?” She looked up at him in her confusion.

“The father of the babe, of course.”

“Oh. Um. No, I do not.”

“Who is he?”

Shamefully hiding her face, she whispered, “I do not know.”

With another weary sigh, he lowered himself into his imposing leather chair, dropping his head into his hands. “Why did you do it?”

“I… did not wish to marry a man with a reputation such as Lord Villena’s. So I ran. The circumstances that led to… this were not planned.”

“I have tried to reassure you, time and time again, that Lord Villena would treat you with nothing but the upmost respect. He dare not do anything else, if he wishes to remain in favor with me.”

“He would treat me with respect, while he continues to rape little girls for his own pleasure,” she snapped. “I will not marry such a monster.”

“Well, you surely won’t marry him now.” Hope almost dared to suffuse her face. “He definitely will not accept you, tainted as you are now. I shall have to look into other options.”

“Father?”

“If a profitable option cannot be found, you will be sent to a chantry, to join the sisters. Your babe would do well, given to the templars or the Maker. It does not matter.” She fought the prickle of tears threatening her eyes.

“Yes, my lord.” Devoid of all emotion, she let herself be guided back to her room, hearing the click of the door locking behind her. With a broken sob, she lowered herself onto her bed, mourning the future she had hoped for in the dark recesses of her heart. A flutter tickled her stomach. Gasping, she pressed a hand to her bump.

 _A child. Sweet Andraste, a real child. I’m going to be a mother._ The ramifications of what she had done in one night of forbidden pleasure finally slammed into her. Feeling her gorge rising, she sprinted to the corner of her room, emptying her stomach into the chamber pot. _What have I done? I… My child. My son. Or daughter. No. I will not let them take it. I will have to abide by whatever arrangement Father decides upon, as long as I keep the babe. I’m going to be a mother._ Curling up against the wall, she cradled her stomach, singing a soft lullaby to the growing child within, picturing what he or she might look light. The father had… he was blonde, right? Curly hair. Handsome, too. Eyes the color of whiskey in firelight. A proud nose, strong chin. Their child would be beautiful at least. Resting her head against the wall, Roselyn briefly allowed herself to indulge in a fantasy where the father of her child would find her, come riding up to her father’s estate, his personal guard in tow. He would be a comte, no a duke, no a prince, fallen head over heels in love with her, searching all of Thedas since that fateful day. Striding up to the courtyard, bedecked in polished golden armor, he would demand her hand in marriage, vow to love her and their child, and whisk her away to his castle. Somewhere far, far away.

She smiled. It was a nice dream. A fairytale. Her door unlocked. Steeling herself for her mother’s wrath, she was surprised when two teenage girls entered instead. “Mariana. Eleanor. Come to gawk at the harlot?”

Her youngest sister, Eleanor, vehemently shook her head, black curls bobbing to and fro. The next oldest, Mariana, just smirked. “So it’s true. You got knocked up, by some man you don’t even know, like a common whore.”

“Don’t say such things, Mari!”

“It’s true, Ellie. Look at her! But thanks to you, Roselyn dearest, Lord Villena will accept me as his bride instead.” She held her victory in her proud, dark brown eyes, grinning triumphantly.

Roselyn grimaced. “You’re closer to his taste, at least. Seventeen? Barely. He prefers them younger, by at least four years.”

Mariana shrugged graceful shoulders. “Who cares what he likes? He’s rich. And doing quite well for himself. They say in several more years, he’ll be richer than Father! Can you imagine?”

“Glad to see your priorities in life are straight,” the eldest muttered sarcastically. “How is Rochelle?” Their eldest sister had been married six months prior, and no longer lived with them. Roselyn felt her absence greatly. The two oldest girls had always been the closest.

“She is well. ‘Chelle wrote to us just last week. She says Nevarra is lovely, although that it will take some time to acclimate to the presence of the Mortalitasi,” Eleanor sidled up closer to her older sister. “Ros, why did you do it? Run away like that? You could have been killed.” Her green eyes, the twin of Roselyn’s own, were brimming with heartfelt worry. Smiling, she drew her little sister closer to her side.

“I have some skill with a bow, Ellie. Althought I’m sure Father is now deeply regretting he allowed me to learn. I would not marry such a monster as Villena, no matter how rich he was. To give him all of me, my body and soul, and to have him treat both with such disregard. No. I would not do it.” Mariana rolled her eyes.

“So giving your body to a nameless commoner was the wiser choice?”

Roselyn shrugged. “He was my choice, at least.”

“You know Father will more than likely find you someone even worse that Lord Villena, right? Some 70 year old man, who’s already buried three wives,” her smile was cruel.

“Whatever happens, happens, Mariana.” Roselyn’s voice was soft yet firm. “As long as my child is cared for. I would, of course, prefer to remain alive and with him, but… life never works out the way you intend.”

Mariana frowned at her sister’s lack of emotion and response. With an arrogant snort, she tugged on Eleanor’s hand. “Let’s go, Ellie. We shouldn’t be associating with base women such as her.” Dragging the younger out, ignoring her protestations, she slammed the door behind them. Shaking her head, Roselyn pulled herself to her feet with the aid of the windowsill, stretching out cramped muscles as she attempted to pull off her gown by herself. Frustrated with the fancy gown, she made to summon a maid to assist, when the door opened again.

“Mariana, if you’ve come back just to- oh. Hello, Mother.” Lady Araneta swept into the room, frowning as she motioned for Roselyn to turn around. Doing as her mother bid, she stood meekly as the dress was untied and carelessly thrown to the side.

“How far along are you? What did he look like?”

“Six months, by my calculations. The man? He was… tall. Curly, blonde hair, fair skin. Deepset, golden brown eyes. Strong nose and chin.”

Without a word, her mother left, shutting the door firmly behind her, the telltale click of the lock snapping shut. Heart lying heavy in her chest, Roselyn did not bother with her nightgown, simply tucking herself into bed in her chemise.

“Don’t worry little one. I promise to love you always, no matter what.”

***

Three weeks later, Roselyn was ready to pull her hair out. She had not been allowed outside of her room once, all meals being delivered to her to take in solitude. So when the door finally opened to her gilded prison, she practically leapt up off her chaise to greet the visitor. The maid bobbed a curtsey, and began preparing her lady’s toilette, as more maids came in, laden with trunks and one bearing a handful of traveling dresses, cut to her new size. She was apparently traveling somewhere.

Fear of the unknown gripped her heart, as icy tendrils snaked their way down her arms. Was she going to the chantry? More than likely not, the dresses she was given to wear on the journey were much too fine. It was probable she was to be married. But to whom? Hair pulled back into a modest bun, high necked mauve dress cut with an empire waist on, she was led out of her room, back into her father’s study, where both parents awaited her.

“Ah, Roselyn. I assume you’ve realized that you will be leaving today. Your ship departs in three hours, bound for Orlais. I have found you a husband who is willing to overlook your current state, as he is in need of an heir and is… unable to produce one on his own. Lord Raphael Arceneaux, of Val Firmin. The papers have all been acquired, as of last week. You have officially been married the past eight months.” She fought to maintain her air of neutrality at that. How much had he paid in bribes to get the Revered Mother to backdate their wedding certificate? “Congratulations.”

Her mother stepped us, cold eyes raking down her daughter’s shameful figure. “He’s a relatively minor lord, but he has great connections and potential to be more. Remember you are still a daughter of House Araneta and you will bring that name nothing but the respect it deserves.” The ‘or else’ hung in the air. _Or else, my last sight will be of a Crow._

Gracefully curtsying, she demurely lowered her head. “Of course, Lady Araneta. Thank you, for arranging such a match, Lord Araneta. It’s been a pleasure.” Her father nodded his approval, while the Lady merely sniffed. Head held high, she floated out the room with all the grace an almost seven month pregnant woman could muster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot, no Cullen. He's coming. Heh. Literally.


	3. Pangs of Labor

The voyage was a nightmare come to life. Her ship had departed Antiva City, sailed through the Rialto Bay, then west into the Waking Sea. The waters had been rough and choppy for almost the entire journey, pitching and rolling the ship this way and that for the past five weeks. Roselyn spent most of her time holed up in her cabin, with her lady’s maid Sofia, trying desperately to keep down the little food she was able to stomach. When the ship’s crew finally called, “Land sighted!” she sobbed with unbridled relief. 

Val Royeaux shone in the distance, the White Spire easily visible where it sat on a high crest overlooking the sprawling city. She had gotten so close to the city when she was on the run, and now she was here anyways. As a wife. To a man she had only known through vague conversation between her father and his business partners. She knew nothing substantial about him. His likes, dislikes, if he was kind, how old he was, if he had any despicable vices. Reining in her apprehension, she rubbed the now massive bump. _One more month and we meet, little one. Oh, I hope Lord Arceneaux will be a good father to you._

Hands clutching the weathered rail in a death grip, Roselyn watched the gilded city slide into view, marveling at the architecture and riot of color that adorned every surface, the music that drifted from the streets and taverns, the call of the merchants. It was like Antiva City, but brighter. It brought her joy, as if a weight she did not know she had been burned with was suddenly lifted. Sofia gently tapped her on her arm. “My lady? The gangplank has been lowered. Our carriage awaits.” Nodding, she carefully walked down the narrow plank, gladly accepting the assistance of the ship’s captain, who had continually treated her with deferential respect over the course of the trip. Murmuring her thanks to the man, her eyes swept over the gathered crowd, looking for the man who would be her husband. A mousy looking man approached, limp brown hair greased back.

“Lady Araneta? Er, Arceneaux? I am Edgar, Lord Arceneaux’s manservant. I am here to escort you and your companion to Val Firmin. Lord Arceneaux sends his deepest regards for not being here in person to greet you, as an urgent matter arose that necessitated his remaining.” He bowed crisply.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Edgar. Shall we be off, then?” Offering him a timid smile, the butler bowed again, escorting them to a fine carriage made of polished cherrywood, plush velvet cushions lining the interior. With a grateful sigh, she sunk down into the soft heaven. Sofia smiled at the luxurious accommodations, following her lady into the conveyance.

“Seems he’s spared no expense, my lady.”

“It would seem that way,” Roselyn agreed. Perhaps he was a kind man after all.

Edgar was most solicitous, attempting to anticipate his lady’s every need, but she noticed the wary looks he gave her, as if he were expecting her to go into labor any second. She wasn’t so sure she wouldn't. By her estimate, she had about two weeks left, but it was a well known fact that babies ran on their own schedule. So it very likely could be any day. She begged the Maker to let her child wait until she was settled in her new home.

Apparently, the Maker listened. Almost. A day short of their destination, as the carriage clattered down the Imperial Highway, she felt the first of her contractions start. “Oh!” she gasped, feeling the tightness spread over her belly, holding for several moments before releasing. She had had these types of contractions before, so it did not occur to the new mother that the real thing had begun. 

“More contractions, my lady?”

“Ah! Yes, it seems that way.” Gingerly, she shifted around, trying to find a more comfortable position. They were so close to the estate, she could almost feel it. A house to walk in. No more carriages or ships or voyaging, just… life. Another contraction gripped her body, this time spreading out to her back in sharp, painful waves. Roselyn hissed.

“My lady?”

Breathing deeply through the pain, it was a moment before she was able to respond. “It’s getting worse.” Frowning, Sofia leaned her head out the window, shouting something up to Edgar. The carriage sped up.

“Edgar believes if we push, we can make it to the estate shortly after nightfall.”

Nodding, she leaned back, just as another spearing pain tore across her belly and back. Unable to hold back a scream this time, she vaguely heard Edgar shouting orders to someone else, and the pounding of hooves as they raced off.

“Shh, it’ll be okay, my lady. Just breathe.” Wetting a cool cloth, she laid it across Roselyn’s brow, already forming a thin layer of perspiration. 

Hours passed this way, as the contractions gathered closer together, and lasted longer each time. Moaning in agony, she was unaware that night had fallen, or that the galloping horses had brought them to the entrance of the modest manse, their flanks heaving with the exertion. The door flew open, servants bustling to her side, a tall man gently lifting her in strong arms. _He smells nice_ , was the first thought that pierced her hazy mind. _Like sandalwood and lilies._

Quickly, she was carried into a cool room and laid in the center of a massive, ornate bed, immediately surrounded by a midwife and servants. The tall man murmured to an older woman dressed in mage robes, who nodded as she ushered him out. 

“Just us now, my dear,” the mage smiled. “I’m going to examine you now, is that alright?”

Roselyn managed what she hoped was a nod, screaming as a particularly painful contraction dug into her. 

“Back labor,” the midwife muttered sympathetically. “The babe is turned. We’ll need to-” Cool hands removed her dress, stripping her to her sweat soaked chemise, and laid on her belly. “This might be uncomfortable, dear.” The world went dark as they applied pressure to her abdomen, roughly pushing sideways on her seizing muscles. Gasping, as she couldn’t even summon the energy to scream any longer, she laid on the silken sheets, delirious with thirst and pain. “There. It’s in the right position now.” A soothing wave of magic rippled through her, relaxing her sore muscles and bruised throat, forcing a blissful sigh to escape her lips. “Almost time to push, dearie. When I tell you, I want you to take a deep breath, then bear down with all of your might, okay?”

Nodding, Roselyn focused on her breathing, trying to put the burning sensation of her lower half out of her mind. A few moments passed, the mage continuing to funnel healing energy into her, revitalizing her depleted muscles in preparation of what was to come. A sharp sting jolted through her hips and up her spine. “Now, my lady. Breathe, and push! ...Again. Breathe, and push!”

She couldn’t do it. The pain, it was too much, as if someone had set her body completely aflame and was tearing her to shreds with a serrated blade. She would die, the baby would die, she would-

“The head! Just a bit more, and… got it!” Roselyn was left in stunned relief, all the pressure and agony blissfully gone, just the sting of sore, abused muscles left in the wake. A tinny cry broke through her thoughts.

“It’s a boy, my lady. A healthy, baby boy.” Tears sprung unbidden to her eyes, as she gazed in awe over the tiny figure. Ten tiny little perfect toes and fingers, a thatch of silky black hair covering his head. Scrunching up his nose, his mouth opened, instinct taking over as he rooted for a breast. “Here, like this.” The midwife helped arrange the infant to Roselyn’s chest, the sensation of him latching on making her gasp in shock.

“He’s a strong little one,” the mage grinned. “I will alert Lord Arceneaux that all is well. If you have need of me in future, please do not hesitate to send for me, Enchanter Claire.”

“You have my many thanks, Enchanter.” Smiling, the mage bowed, exiting the room to inform the new father of his wife’s and child’s fate. _Wife. I’m a wife. And a mother._ Inhaling the sweet scent of her baby’s head, she relaxed against the down pillows, sleep slowly taking her as her babe suckled. _All will be well, little one._

***

It was a day later before she finally met her new husband. Sofia and another maid puttered around the room, putting away her belongings and filling the air with idle chatter, as another servant poked her head into the room to see if the lady was decent. Throwing a robe over her, Sofia nodded to let the lord in.

The tall man she vaguely remembered carrying her in cautiously entered, smiling politely and reservedly at her. He was middle-aged, probably in his early 40s, wavy straw blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, warm, light brown eyes gazing at her. He was fit and trim, on the slender side of toned, and quite handsome, Roselyn thought to herself. The appearance of smile lines around his eyes and lips were a welcome sight.

“My lord, I regret I am unable to properly greet you,” she inclined her head meekly, hoping he was not affronted.

“It’s no matter, Lady Roselyn. I doubt your first impression of me was all that pristine, what with me carrying you sprinting into the house like a barbarian.” She giggled at that, and watched as he minutely relaxed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better today than yesterday, my lord. Would you care to meet… the babe?”

He nodded, carefully approaching the bed. “Maker. He’s so small. He has your hair, it seems. May I?” Hardly able to deny the man his son, _his son_ , she handed the infant over. Gently cradling his head, Lord Arceneaux examined the tiny bundle, smiling as he opened his eyes and stared at the man. “His eyes. They’re of similar coloring to my own. This will do quite well. I give you my word, my lady, you shall be treated with all the honor and respect that would accompany the title of my wife and Lady Arceneaux, and your son will be my own, entitled to everything as my sole heir. Is this acceptable?”

She blinked, hardly able to believe her good fortune. “My lord, I- of course it is acceptable. I did not dare…” she trailed off, unable to give voice to her concerns. With a soft smile, he handed the baby back.

“I have certain, shall we say.... Proclivities that make it nigh on impossible for me to father my own children. I…” He paused, noting her confusion. Sighing, he scratched his head. “To put in bluntly, I prefer the company of men. Being with a female, even one as beautiful as yourself, is… not something to which I am inclined. You have free reign of the house, to do as you wish. I ask only that you conduct yourself in a manner befitting my- our name.”

Nodding her understanding, Roselyn could cry for sheer happiness. It was almost everything she had ever dreamed. A kind husband, a good father for her son, and love… well, she had her baby. All the love she might have lavished on a man would go to him and he would be better for it. “Have you thought of a name, my lord?”

“Please, call me Raphael while we are alone. It would do me well to hear my own name once in awhile. May I call you Roselyn?” Smiling beatifically, she nodded again. “Lovely. Let’s see. How do you feel about Nicholas? It was my father’s name. Nicholas... Julien?”

“Nicholas Julien Arceneaux. A fine name for a fine boy,” she cooed to the sleeping infant. Lifting her free hand to press a soft kiss to it, Lord Raphael bid his new wife a good night, promising to check back in on the morrow. With a full heart and eased conscience, Roselyn fell into a deep slumber, at peace with her world finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So real talk, the manual manipulation they do to try to get your unborn child to flip into the right position fucking SUCKS. And also, thank god for epidurals.


	4. Familiar Faces

**9:41 Dragon**

“My dear, these came for you today. A letter from Duchess Nicoline de Ghislain, and another from Lady Antoinette Mantillon.”

“Oh?” Roselyn took the crisp envelopes from the silver tray, deftly slicing them open with the engraved letter opener nearby. Her eyes quickly scanned the contents.

“Any news?”

“Duchess Nicoline mentions that Madame de Fer has left a few months ago bound for Haven to offer her support to this Inquisition. Or wherever they are now, since Haven was been destroyed. Hmm. Perhaps your decision to ally us with them was not unfounded.”

Raphael snorted. “Thank you, wife, for your enthusiastic support. They relocated to an ancient keep in the Frostbacks called Skyhold. How is Bastien?”

Grinning at him, she returned to finish perusing the letter. “Oh, dear. Seems he’s taken a turn for the worse. Poor Laurent.” Shaking her head sadly, she perused the other letter. “The Dowager wishes to know if we will be attending the ball in Halamshiral in four months. I’ve heard… rumors. Words that make me rather apprehensive about going.” Sighing, she tossed the letter aside, accepting the glass of pinot a servant handed her. “But I suppose we have to go, don’t we?”

Pursing his lips, her husband nodded. ‘I believe we should. It would be a show of good faith for the Inquisition to have more of its allies present. And I should like to meet the Inquisitor very much. He’s a fascinating, accomplished man. To have survived all that he has… Well, he must be Andraste’s Herald, surely.”

Groaning, she delicately lowered herself into a chair. “Four months. Maker, Raphael, where will I find a seamstress in such short notice?”

“You’ll manage, my dear. You always do. Ah, here is my little man. How were your studies today?”

Creeping into the room, a small boy of four froze to the rug as soon as he realized he was spotted. Grinning, he sprinted the rest of the way across the study and threw himself into his father’s arms. “Boring, Father. Can’t I learn more about horses? They’re ever so much more interesting.” 

Chuckling, Lord Arceneaux fondly regarded the boy. He had curly jet black hair, similar to his mother, a tall, aristocratic nose, and warm, amber eyes just a shade brighter and more intense than his own. And highly intelligent, a fact which he owed to his mother. Lady Roselyn had proved herself a match for the Empire’s Game, quickly raising the in ranks of nobility as an opponent to be feared and respected. Clever with words in a way Raphael knew he was not, in possession of a kind and generous spirt, she had helped him avoid many a pitfall by his side to his business and morality. He thanked the Maker every day for the gift of both of them. “Learning to read and write is a vital part of any noble’s education. And horses. Otherwise, how will you know what the feed bag is labeled if you cannot read? What if what you think says horse feed says nug feed? Poor horses.” Giggling, Nicholas attempted to pout.

“Mother…”

“You’ll get no sympathy from me, my love. Now come, wash up, it’s time for supper. I’ll join you in just a moment, husband. I need to get a response to Lady Mantillon straight away. Perhaps she’ll lend me her seamstress for the ball.”

***

“May I take your coat, Lady Arceneaux?” Turning her back to the attendant, she allowed him to slip off her coat, before sliding her arm through her husband’s arm, ensuring her mask, an icy blue engraved with silver scrollwork, was secure, smoothing a hand over her matching silk gown. After over four years together, they had reached a comfortable familiarity that made them the envy of many, despite the age difference, him being 45 in years and her, 24. The gap was hardly noticeable, as they flirted and joked with each other, savoring their rapport.

Eyes shining in appreciation of the decor, Roselyn drank in the tableau of glitter and silk that adorned every body and surface of the Winter Palace. “Oh, Nicholas would be over the moon if he were here,” she remarked wistfully.

“Mostly thrilled at the selection of sweets, I dare say,” Raphael chuckled. “Ah, there is Comte Debiern and his new wife. Shall we mingle, Lady Arceneaux?”

“Of course, my lord.” Smiles firmly in place, the pair drifted from group to group, gossiping about all the latest topics, the Inquisition being the buzzword on everyone’s lips tonight. The state of Lady Lanoux’s hat being the second.

“Ah! The Inquisition! They are arriving!” Hushed whispers fell over the crowd as Raphael led them to a spot by the railing.

“Now presenting, Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, and accompanying him, Lord Inquisitor Maxwell Trevelyn, son of Bann Trevelyn of Ostwick.”

“Oh, he’s handsome,” Roselyn murmured, Raphael humming his agreement. Broad shoulder flexed under a fitted red and gold military style jacket, dark brown hair was combed back into loose waves that framed piercing eyes and a well defined jawline. The titters from other ladies and lords echoed through the hall as they all observed the attractive man.

“Accompanying the Inquisitor, Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Callogera Filomena-”

“Get on with it!” an impatient voice cut in. Roselyn raised her lace fan to hide her giggle.

“Pentaghast! Fourteenth cousin the King of Nevarra, nine times removed, Hero of Orlais.” She had meet the Seeker, once, on a trip to Val Royeaux a few years back. She was an intense woman, who demanded the people around her to devote themselves entirely to the cause, just as she did. Brusque, but effective. Roselyn liked her, despite the Nevarran's dislike of the Game. Or maybe it was because of it. Some days, the Game was extraordinarily tiring and petty.

“Lady Leliana, Nightingale of the Imperial Court! Veteran of the Fifth Blight! Seneschal of the Inquisition!” Sister Nightingale, the famed bard and collector of secrets. She had heard tales of the woman, and resolved to stay beneath her gaze. Far, far beneath. A shiver trickled down her spine, earning her a raised eyebrow from Raphael. Giving her hand a friendly squeeze, they turned their attention back to the floor.

“Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath! Commander of the Forces of the Inquisition! Former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall!” 

“Oh, my,” Raphael murmured. “Do you see him? Absolutely gorgeous.” Roselyn didn’t answer. She was too busy trying to remember how to breathe. _He looks like… No, it can’t be. They said he was the former Knight-Commander. Why would the Knight-Commander have been in a seedy Lowtown tavern, wearing unmarked armor? It can’t be him._

“He’s… certainly something. I think you’ll have to fight off the rest of the court for his attention though,” she smirked, observing the rest of the court fanning themselves over the handsome man. “I never thought I’d see the day when Lady Paquet would be all aflutter over a Ferelden, regardless of his physique.”

“It’s the end of the world, my lady, didn’t you know?” Sharing a private laugh, the introductions over, the couple moved away from the railing, opting to continue their slow rounds, happening across a beautiful Antivan woman in the horrid Inquisition's red uniform, standing next to another young Antivan clad in the finery of Orlais.

“Lady Montilyet? Allow me to introduce myself, Raphael Arceneaux of Val Firmin. This is my wife, Lady Roselyn Arceneaux. I know we have been in touch, but I am grateful for the chance to thank you in person for all that your organization has done for the stability of Thedas.”

Smiling graciously, the Antivan allowed him to kiss her hand. “Lord and Lady Arceneaux! The pleasure is all mine. The silverite and veridium from your mines have been all but essential to our operation, providing much of the weaponry for our army. And Lady Arceneaux! It’s always lovely to meet a fellow Antivan. You are of House Araneta, correct?”

“Lady Josephine,” Roselyn curtseyed, “Your information is correct. But please, I would prefer for you to think of me as an Arceneaux, not Araneta.” Her smile was gracious, but Josephine caught the underlying tone. It was a relief to the ambassador. House Araneta was known for their… ruthlessness when it came to business. By all accounts, Lady Arceneaux was a kind, gentle soul.

“But of course, my lady. Have you had a chance to meet the Inquisitor yet?”

“No, but I’m sure he’s a busy man,” Lady Arceneaux smiled. “We do hope to introduce ourselves, but if not, there will be other times.” 

"He would delighted to meet you, as would our Commander." 

"Lady Montilyet!" With another elegant dip of her skirts, the took their leave as more nobles rushed to accost the Lady Josephine, Raphael taking that moment to spot the Commander across the room. Unsubtly pulling his wife in that direction, Roselyn stifled a giggle at his antics, more befitting to a man half his age.

“Commander Rutherford? Your ambassador tells me you and your men have put our mines to good use. Raphael Arceneaux, at your service.”

The tall blond man pivoted to face them, wariness guarding his handsome features. _Maker, he looks so similar. Just… healthier. And no curly hair._ “Ah, Lord Arceneaux. Yes, the materials you keep us supplied with have been most beneficial. Is this your wife?”

“But of course, where are my manners? I seem to always get so flustered around handsome men,” with a wink, he turned to his wife, oblivious to the Commander’s stiffening of his spine at the playful remark. _He’s so uncomfortable, the poor man._

“Commander, you’ll have to forgive my husband. He likes to tease, nothing more.” A faint hint of relief relaxed his features as he gazed down at her, eyes widening. “Roselyn Arceneaux, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“He seems rather taken by your beauty, my dear,” Raphael commented amusedly, watching as the Ferelden struggled to find words. 

“Ah, well, um- Maker. I apologize. You are quite lovely, you just… Never mind. Lord Arceneaux, I had a request, if I may. The Inquisitor will be departing from Halamshiral, heading west along the Imperial Highway into the far reaches of the Western Approach. Would you permit them to camp overnight on your property along the way? In exchange, I can leave a regiment behind to protect your mines. I believe I saw a report that indicated increased red templar activity around Val Firmin.”

“Your report was correct, Commander. Sadly, I’ve lost several men recently to the beasts.” Shivering at the remembrance of the twisted creatures, he continued, “But the Inquisitor and his companions are most welcome to stay within my household as guests. None of this camping nonsense.”

Warm, golden skin crinkled around eyes of amber. “I shall alert the Inquisitor then. Or, rather, we can together. Here he is now. Inquisitor, might I present Lord and Lady Arceneaux? They have graciously offered their home to you when you leave here for the Forbidden Oasis.”

“Is that so? Then, you have my many thanks, my lord, lady. Traveling in a camp does get tiring after so many nights.” The inquisitor’s presence was strong, unmistakable, and unavoidable. Like an avalanche, crushing every problem he encountered and burying it deep. _Like a sledgehammer_ , Roselyn mused. “I look forward to talking with you both further, but if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have need of my Commander,” he apologized.

“Of course, of course,” Raphael grinned. “It was a pleasure meeting you both.” Roselyn curtseyed, following her husband back into the throng of people.

Cullen watched her go, almost positive it was her, the girl from the tavern years ago, the one he had never been able to forget. Her eyes were the same emerald green flecked with gold. But- she was a lady. A highbred noblewoman. Why would she have been in that ratty leather armor, drinking in a place like the Hanged Man? Josephine. Josephine would know. He would have to ask her later. Right now, the Inquisition needed his entire focus.

***

It was over. Empress Celene’s life had been taken by her own cousin, Duchess Florianne, and Grand Duke Gaspard now ruled as emperor. The civil war finally over, Orlais was stable once more. Roselyn wanted to do nothing more that to escape Halamshiral and go back home and cuddle her son. Tonight’s festivities were a bit more... lively than she had anticipated. Breaking away from her husband, she wandered out to the gardens, relishing the peace and quiet found in the chilly night air.

“Hiding as well?” A smooth Ferelden baritone called out to her. Glancing to her right, she spied the Commander, leaning against a column partially hidden by a topiary, gazing up at the sky.

“The Game does get rather tiresome after the fifth attempted murder of the night,” she pleasantly agreed.

“Fifth?” He started, eyes wide as he focused on her, the silken sheen of her icy blue dress reflecting the moonlight. “Maker’s breath. I thought the one was more than enough.”

“Oh, the other four were minor attempts on the lesser nobility. Only one drew blood, more akin to a papercut I believe. Nothing to fear, Commander. Poor Celene. May her soul rest in peace.”

Shaking his head, he made a noncommittal noise, wracking his brain, trying to decide what to say. Should he just ask her if she was in Kirkwall that night? If the letter ‘Z’ meant anything to her? Would it even matter if it was her? She was married now. He should just leave her alone. Yes, that would be for the best. “Yes, Maker rest her soul. I believe I’ve hid out here long enough, I should get back before Sister Nightingale sends a search party out for me.” Smiling ruefully, he gracefully bowed, cutting a fine figure in the red and gold of the Inquisition’s uniform. “It was an honor meeting you, Lady Arceneaux.”

“The honor was mine, Commander.” Her eyes followed him as he strode back indoors, a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her mystery man had been Ferelden as well. Was it just one big coincidence? What would she do if it was him? Nothing. She couldn’t. She was married to her husband, a good man who had taken her in and claimed her son as his own. She owed him everything. So it did not matter if that man truly was the one from that night.

Sighing, she turned back to observe the sky, stars twinkling against the velvety midnight sky. _Maker, what a mess._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely happy with this, but posting it anyways. Brain has turned off today and I'm struggling to write. So here's a rather short chapter. Story picks up in the next chapter.
> 
> You can find me struggling to figure out how to internet at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kawakaeguri. Drop by and say hi!


	5. Inquisitor's Inivitation

There was so much screaming. Heart racing, giving her feet wings, Roselyn sprinted through the house, curls in disarray, frantically searching for her son. “Nicholas! Where are you! Nicholas! Nicho- Oh, Maker!” A small head popped out of her room.

“Mother? I was looking for you.” Gathering her son up in her arms, she crushed him against her as she ran down the stairs. “Mama, what’s going on? Where’s Father?”

“We have to go, love. Bad men are coming. Your father went with the soldiers to investigate. Do you remember what we have to do?”

He nodded into her chest. “The servant’s door in the kitchen, to the stables, get a horse and ride to town.”

“There’s a good lad,” she pressed a kiss to his curly head, trying to force her panic down. The servant’s exit was just on the other side of this hall. As she reached for the door, it slammed open with a force hard enough to splinter the wood. Gasping, she stumbled back. In the broken doorframe stood what used to be a man, clad in the armor of the templars, sword of mercy engraved on the breastplate. Eyes glowed red, and strange red crystals of lyrium jutted out of his skin. It was all so wrong. She could hear the shrieks of the lyrium, like nails on a chalkboard, grating her senses.

“Mama, make it stop!” Clutching her whimpering son closer to her chest, she backed up slowly, eye trained on the monster. There was a sword above the mantle to her left, if she could just reach it she could… do something. It had been years since she handled a blade, but she would. Anything to protect her son. 

Pulling her courage up around her, she murmured in his ear, "Nicholas, I need you to do something for me. When I tell you to run, I need you to run back out into the main hall, go out the back patio, and hide in the gardens. Do you understand me?” Slender arms wrapped tighter around her neck, as he wailed his dissent. She was within arm’s reach of the sword now.

“Baby, I have to put you down. Stay behind me.” Nodding, he slid down her side, and crouched behind her full skirts as she snatched the sword off the wall, brandishing it at the red templars. “You will not have him.],” her voice hissed with a bravado she did not feel.

“Roselyn! Nicholas!” The far door burst open, as Raphael and three of his men flung themselves into the room. “Get away from them, you bastards!” Two more red templars ambled into the room as the lord of the house threw himself at the enemy. Leaning down to shield her son’s eyes, Roselyn watched in horror as the blighted creatures easily disposed of the men, literally tearing one in half with superhuman strength.

“Mama?”

“Don’t look, baby.” Tears were streaming down her face as she fought the urge to scream. All the exits were blocked. There was no escape for them, or for her husband, who was now surrounded.

“Roselyn, I…” He gazed out at his wife and son, the enormity of the hopeless situation settling around his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” With a gurgled breath, he collapsed to his knees, eyes drifting down to the sword protruding out of his stomach from the back.

“RAPHAEL! NO!” she screamed, hand still firmly clamped over her son’s eyes.

“Mama! Where’s Father? What happened!” The red templars were advancing on her, all five of them that were now in the room. It was over. Turning away from the creatures, she pulled her son into the her lap, facing the wall, her body curled over his.

“Nicholas. I love you. More than anything else in the entire world. You know that, right?” He nodded solemnly.

“I love you, too, Mama.” Kissing his soft cheek, she tried to ignore the sound of the heavy footsteps approaching, forcing her voice to remain calm as she murmured an old, familiar lullaby. The footsteps stopped. _Please let it be quick_. And she waited.

And waited.

An inhuman cry shrieked just above their heads, small bits of red lyrium shattering around them in rain of crystal. Daring to look back, Roselyn stared into the harsh face of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. The rest of the red templars were frozen into blocks of ice, a regal mage striding into the room to inspect her handiwork.

“Seeker Pentaghast? Madame de Fer?” Recognition slowly replaced the fear in her eyes, as her death grip on her son lessened every so slightly. Methodically, they smashed each frozen templar, Cassandra shield bashing them to bits while a dwarf shot high velocity bolts from a crossbow. 

“Mama? What’s going on?” Nicholas peeked out, looking out over the bloody room.

“Nicholas, don’t look, love. The Inquisition saved us. We’re going to be okay.”

“Father. Where is Father? I want Father!”

Lady Vivienne stood up from where she been crouched by a still warm body. “Lady Arceneaux, I’m sorry but… your husband is no longer with us.” Pushing herself to stand, graceful even in her grief, four year old still wrapped around her waist, Roselyn picked her way through the carnage to stand over her husband’s body.

“Raphael…” Sobs shook her body as she held her son and cried, wails emanating from her lungs. A gentle hand laid on her shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into her back.

“Father…” Nicholas caught sight of his father finally, face wrinkled with confusion as to why the lord of the house was lying on the ground, sleeping.

“I can take him for you, my lady.” Edgar had appeared at her side, bloody and bandaged, but alive. Nodding, she passed him over to the butler, who had to physically drag him out as the boy howled his unanswered questions.

Leaning over Raphael’s chest, her fingers clutched in his shirt, she continued to sob, hot, angry tears at the monsters who caused this, raging at the world for taking him away from her. Her good, kind, sweet husband. He did not deserve such a fate.

Eventually, she felt herself being lifted to her feet, flanked by the Seeker and Madame de Fer, the dwarf trailing behind, as they followed a servant into the library. Vivienne located the brandy and poured her a healthy dose, glass pressing into her hand. “Drink. It will help,” she kindly murmured.

Numb, Roselyn took the glass , mechanically forcing a sip down. “I’m sorry we did not get here sooner. They were… everywhere, on the grounds. Lord Arceneaux was with us for a while, until a servant alerted him that you and your son were trapped. He ran in before we could join him. I… You have my deepest condolences.” The Seeker leaned rigidly against a dark, lacquered table, dark eyes full of sympathy. A small knock sounded at the door as the Inquisitor peeked inside.

“Lady Arceneaux, I’m… so sorry. There aren’t enough words, I know. Is there anything I can do?”

Finding her voice, she nodded. “Kill every one of those bastards.”

“Consider it done.” Glancing out the door, he continued, “I can leave some of our soldiers here to assist with… restoring the grounds and house, whatever you need. And for extra security as well.”

“No,” she shook her head. “We’re not staying here. I-” Her voice broke. “I can’t. I’ll just see him, lying there, and he- he _apologized_ to me. Him. Who has been nothing but honorable and kind and deserving of so much more than me.” Her tears started anew, deep sobs hitching her breath.

“Where will you go?” Varric, the dwarf from earlier, asked softly.

“I don’t know. Val Royeaux maybe? We have a townhome there. I am not sure.”

“If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion?” The mage glanced at the Inquisitor, who nodded. “Would you consider coming to Skyhold? It is safe there, for you and your son, and a lady of your caliber and skill would be a welcome aid to the ambassador.”

Surprised, the Seeker nodded her approval. “Your talent within the Game is well known, even to me. Josephine would welcome you with open arms.”

Eyes devoid of any emotion, Roselyn looked up at Inquisitor Trevelyn. “We would be safe there?”

“I daresay it’s the safest place in Thedas right now,” he replied confidently.

Staring down at her brandy, she tossed the rest back in a single gulp. Nodding, she stood up. “We will go. Edgar and the others will manage the estate and mines in the meantime with the addition of your men. I cannot bare to be here any longer than I must. I will go pack.”

“I would be happy to help, my dear,” Vivienne smoothly rose to her feet.

“Of course, Madame de Fer. Your assistance would be greatly appreciated.”

Maxwell watched the pair walk out of the room, both backs held straight. “Maker. This is a huge mess. Lord Arceneaux… was it a love match?”

Cassandra shook her head. “Arranged, I believe. But they were friends. They had an easy rapport than many love matches do not even have. He doted on her and she adored him. They are both well loved throughout Orlais. His death will be felt keenly.”

“Damn,” Varric sighed. “It’s always the good ones.”

“Right.” His mark flared, causing him to wince slightly. Rubbing his left hand on his leg, Maxwell walked out the room, calling, “I’ll send a raven to Josephine, telling her to expect them within a week or so.”

***

Skyhold was massive. When Raphael had told her it was an ancient keep, she pictured ruins patched together, not… this. 

Nicholas had been inconsolable at first, as his mother tried to explain that his father was gone, and they would be leaving the only home he had ever known. Hours, he had sobbed, screamed, kicked. Until Varric walked in, weaving tales so fantastic, Nicholas had calmed down just so he could hear more. So the dwarf had told him every story he could think of, boy perched on the back of his horse, for the entire eight day trek back to Skyhold.

The sight was almost enough to make her smile. Almost.

A large wagon lumbered behind them, carrying supplies back from the Western Approach, while a smaller wagon had their possessions strapped down. Sofia had come with her, refusing to leave her lady’s side. Lady Vivienne had encouraged her to pack more, but what she had was hard enough. Every piece had a memory of Raphael, teasing her over the current style, or complementing the color, or spilling something down her front, giving her a sheepish apology. The same as every inch of their villa. Memories, everywhere, too fresh and raw to deal with yet.

Pulling to a halt in the courtyard, the Inquisitor jumped off his horse, hurrying to her side to assist Roselyn with dismounting. Murmuring her thanks, she gazed up in awe, taking in the impressive fortress. “This is quite a place you have, Inquisitor.”

“Mama. That man has horns.” Nicholas was staring, mouth agape at a towering Qunari, one eye covered by an eyepatch, body riddled with scars.

“Nicholas, don’t stare, it’s impolite. He is Qunari. They all have horns. Now come along, greet the Lady Josephine.” Grumping his way up the stairs, the four year old bowed neatly at the waist to the Antivan.

“Lady Josiefee, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Lord Arceneaux.” Hearing that title threatened to send another wave of tears spilling out of her eyes. “Lady Arceneaux… I am so sorry for your loss. You must be exhausted from your trip, please, follow me. I have rooms prepared for you and your son.” Gratefully following the perceptive ambassador into the main hall, Roselyn watched as Nicholas strained, twisting this way and that, trying to take everything in.

Ushering them into a sparsely furnished suite, they stood in a parlor, complete with a plush sofa and a big, roaring fireplace. Off the main room was the master suite, and a smaller room for her son. “My apologies for not having it set up yet, I am still waiting on a few shipments from Orlais with regards to furnishing, a new rug, a desk…”

“Lady Montilyet, it’s perfect. Thank you.” Josephine blushed.

“Please, Josephine is fine, my lady.”

“Then I insist you call me Roselyn.” Holding up a hand to forestall her protests, Lady Arceneaux continued, “Raphael did not attach much import to titles around those he called friends. I find I am much the same.”

“Very well, La- Roselyn.” Smiling at the solemn woman, the ambassador showed herself out, with a promise to return later to see how she settled in.

“Is this my room?” Nicholas poked his head into the smaller room. “It’s so… little. And plain.”

“It is not what we are used to, I know my love. But it is warm, and safe, and the people here are kind. That is all that matters,” tenderly she brushed a lock of curls out of his face, heart swelling with love for her son. He was safe. Thanks to Raphael. Sofia bobbed a curtsy as she slipped inside a few moments later, scurrying to the trunks to begin unload her lady’s luggage.

“They have me bedding down with the other staff, in the rooms below the kitchen. I’ll be up here every day at sunrise, my lady, and whenever else you have need of me.”

Nodding to the young woman, pressing an affectionate hand to her arm, she asked her to pick out a dress and help her change, so the lady and her son could go look around their new home.

Thus, wearing a simple, high neck woolen gown of soft green, embroidered with dark, forest green flowers and vines along the hems, Lady Arceneaux and her son descended back down into the main hall, leisurely strolling along, allowing herself to be pulled into conversation with a few of the nobles present that she recognized. A small hand tugged at her skirts after a moment.

“Mama? I’m booooored.”

“Nicholas-”

“Hey, kid.” Varric sauntered up to the pai, smiling benignly. “Lady Arceneaux, I can take him for awhile if you’d like. Take him down to the stables and yard, keep him busy.”

Warmth suffused her chest as she felt the now familiar burn of tears rising. _Everyone here is so kind_. Glancing down into her son’s hopeful amber eyes, Roselyn sighed. “Promise you’ll listen to Messere Varric. Do not run off on your own, else you shall be confined to your room for the next month. Do you understand?”

With a sweet, “Yes, Mama,” the friendly dwarf took her son’s hand, leading him out of the front of the hall.

“He is such a handsome boy,” one of the nobles commented. “Your dear late husband’s sole heir, correct? Oh! You and he must meet my Claudette. I believe they are of a similar age.”

A nonchalant smile covered up the disgust she felt rolling within her belly. _No, my son will choose his own destiny in life. I’ll not see him forced into a loveless union as I almost was. As I was._ For while she had loved Raphael deeply, it was the love of friendship. He had been her closest confidant, her trusted companion. But every night, she retired to her bedchamber, nestled alone into her cold, dark silk sheets. Despite telling her herself that it was a small thing, after all, it was better to be ignored than to be forced to bed a man she did not want, it was still lonely. Especially when the sounds of Raphael and the company he kept were sometimes audible through the walls, haunting in the midnight air. But here she was, a widow now, no marital or familial ties left to bind her- surely, she could pursue a casual dalliance? She knew other widows did, quite often. It would just be a matter of choosing a discreet man, who would be satisfied with just the physical. It would not do to fall in love, or be fallen in love with. After all, she could not jeopardize her son’s inheritance.

***

“Oh, wow, look Messere Varric! That one!”

“Careful, Nicholas, that’s a war nug. His head is as big as you,” Varric chuckled. Master Dennet, the horsemaster, looked up from where he was inspecting a chestnut mare’s hoof.

“Eh, he’s as sweet and docile as a kitten, that one. Do you know how to ride, boy?”

Nearly jumping with glee, the boy flung his head up and down, “My father taught me! Before he- before he-” His handsome face fell, tears sparkling in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Varric soothed. “You can cry all you want. C’mere, lad.” Bending on one knee in the hay, he drew the boy in, letting him sob into his red velvet jacket.

“This is new,” a smooth baritone remarked, amusement coloring his voice. “Babysitting duty, Varric?”

“Hey, kid, someone I want you to meet.” Rubbing his sleeve across his face, the boy looked up with tear stained cheeks. “Lord Nicholas Arceneaux, may I present the Commander of the Inquisition, Cullen Rutherford.”

“How do you do, Commander,” the boy hiccuped politely, bowing slightly.

Cullen’s eyes grew wide as his face flushed. “Oh! Maker, I’m- I heard, of your-” he paused, noticing the fresh tears that were welling up, “Er. Do you like horses? Would you like to get on one?” A small nod. “Which one, then?” He pointed. “That…? Oh.” Rubbing his neck, Cullen sighed. “Right, then. The Bog Unicorn. Are you sure you don’t want something a bit more… alive?” He shook his head, Varric grinning widely behind him. Groaning to himself, he grabbed a saddle, and prepared the odd steed, trying to ignore the smell of damp leaves and mildew that faintly wafted from its flanks. “Up we go.” Leading the ‘horse’ out into the courtyard, he led the now smiling boy in a few circuits around a large tree.

“Is the Commander of the Inquisition giving pony rides now?” A redhead dressed in a fitted chainmail suit with a deep, purple cowl watched the imposing man lead the undead horse around in bemusement.

“Nicholas wanted it,” Varric shrugged.

“Nicholas? Arceneaux? So they are here now.” Leliana sighed sympathetically. “The poor lad. And his mother.” As the Commander rounded the tree, turning so both him and the little lordling were facing the spymaster, her bright green eyes narrowed, taking in the two males and their smiling faces. With a curious, “hmm,” she spun away and quickly disappeared back into the keep without a word.

“That was weird,” Varric shrugged. "Oh, well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad chapter. But it had to be written, because now she's in Skyhold. And single.
> 
> I'm trying to write more smut for this fic and my mother is in town and she won't leave me alone and it's so awkwarddddd trying to write anything remotely sexy with her hovering. X_X


	6. Check

It was the heady scent of embrium and crystal grace that drew her out here, to this small, wild garden in the heart of the keep. Content to meander along the narrow paths and breathe in the herbs planted nearby, Roselyn almost felt at peace for the first time in weeks since Raphael's demise. Trailing a hand over the large petals of a dawn lotus near the end of a sparking pool, her eyes alighted on a gazebo, rough and pitted stone indicating its age. A table, just large enough for a carved chess set, lay within, two wicker chairs set aside. The cool marble was smooth against her skin, the figure of a horse rearing proudly in her hand.

“Do you play?” Startled, she almost dropped the piece. “Oh, I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not mean to frighten.” Shaking her head, she raised her eyes to meet his.

“No harm done, Commander. I was merely lost in my own thoughts.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled gently down at her, the deep burgundy of his tabard highlighting his complexion, the thick fur mantle making him look very Ferelden. “I do play. Or I did. It has been awhile.”

Gesturing to the board, he stepped closer to her, close enough for her to smell his distinct oakmoss and elderflower soap. “Would you care for a game?”

“Um…” Her mind went blank at the sudden nearness of his large bulk, towering over her much smaller frame, raw masculinity lining his body. “Sure,” she squeaked, all eloquence fleeing from her grasp. His smile widened as he stepped around to pull out a chair for her. Sinking into the wooden seat, she resolved to gather her wits and to refrain from acting like an untried young maiden. She was a mother, a widow, a lady. She needed to act like it. _But, Andraste guide me, he’s so handsome._

Moving a white piece into his starting position, he leaned back to observe her. “I wanted to offer my condolences for your loss, my lady. I regret our team could not arrive faster. He seemed an excellent man. How long were you married?”

Blinking away an unexpected tear, she picked up an ebony pawn. “He was. The very best. We were married on Wintersend, 35. And you? No wife yet, Commander?”

He flushed. “Ah, no. I was a templar before being recruited to the Inquisition. To be honest, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind yet. It still doesn’t seem like an option.”

“Templar? Oh yes, I remember you being introduced as the former Knight-Commander at the ball.”

“Just Knight-Captain, actually. I took over my superior’s duties temporarily when she became… incapacitated.”

“Turned into a statue, you mean?” Her smile was easy now, teasing him.

Chuckling, he moved another piece. “Yes, that.” Clearing his throat, he glanced up at her. “Have… you ever been to Kirkwall?”

Eyes guarded, she considered the question. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.” The lie stuck in her throat.

Nodding without further reaction, Cullen replied, “I’m glad. It was a cesspool.” A few moments of silence later, he grinned. “You’re rather good at this.”

“My father insisted it was necessary for all of his girls to learn. Strategy, whether on the battlefield or within a household, is essential.”

“He was right. You know, I used to play with my sister. She’d always get this stuck up look when she won. My brother and I practiced for weeks. The look on her face when she finally lost,” his scar tugged his grin into a lopsided smirk, taking her breath away. “You said you had sisters?”

“Hmm. Oh, what? Apologies. Yes, four sisters. I’m the second oldest. You?”

“Two sisters and a brother. They live in South Reach. You are Antivan, correct? A long way from home in Orlais.”

“Not far enough,” Roselyn muttered. “Oh! Please don’t remember that. My family is… rather business minded.” Cullen laughed at her expression, her face horrified by her slip of tongue. “I’m usually more eloquent than this, honestly.”

“Funny, because I’m usually less eloquent. Especially around beautiful women.” His eyes were warm as they regarded her, the delicate blush that covered her cheeks and neck, the hint of a pleased smile playing at her lips. _What would she taste like?_ His ears burned at the thought, tearing his gaze away from her, trying to bring his focus back to the game.

Smothering a giggle, she moved again. “I believe I have this game, Commander.”

“That you do, my lady.”

“Roselyn.”

“Lady Roselyn, then.” He couldn’t help but stare. Her delighted face lit up at his use of her name. It was like gazing into the sun, bright and warm. “Only if you’ll call me Cullen.”

“Of course, Ser Cullen.”

“Just… Cullen. I have no title outside of the Inquisition any longer.” Inclining her head, she made to reset the board. “Another game?”

“Oh! Um…”

“If you’re concerned about your son, I believe I saw him with the Iron Bull. He was letting your son practice beating him with a stick,” Cullen chuckled at the memory. At her widening of her emerald eyes, he realized she was worried. “The Qunari won’t let anything happen to your son, I swear on my honor. He’s a good man.” Relief flooded her features, as she nodded.

“Prepare the board, then Commander. I find myself enjoying your company.” The delight that spread across his handsome face made her insides clench. Suddenly, she knew she would do or say anything to make him smile like that again.

“As do I, Lady Roselyn.”

***

The weeks passed pleasantly enough, assisting the Lady Josephine as best she could, mainly replying to minor correspondence, and conversing with the nobility that had ensconced themselves at Skyhold. Nicholas flourished here, running almost wild through the courtyard, intently studying the soldiers that trained in the keep. She often found him here when his tutor came to inform her that her son had missed another session, mimicking the jabs and thrusts of the recruits, stricken with a serious case of hero worship for the golden Commander.

 _Cullen._ She smiled, thinking about the man. They kept up their chess sessions, meeting several times a week to play. He was always the polite gentlemen to her, nothing in his demeanor to give her further reason to assume he was the man from Kirkwall. Cullen was far too restrained. Idly, she wondered how he would kiss her. Did she really want to know? For certainty, there was no other man present that had captured her attention quite like he did. But of course, there were many others who desired him. Younger, prettier, child-free others. Surely he would choose one of them. But she was the only he sought out. A tiny giggle bubbled forth as she considered a silly daydream, a future where he would come to her, professing his love, bent on one knee. But no, that would not be him. He was a man of action, not words. Perhaps he would simply sweep her off her feet, cradle her against his broad chest, and kiss her until she was breathless? It was a nice fantasy, one that kept her plenty warm on the cold, lonely nights.

"My lady," Varric bowed to her as she stepped into the main hall. "Looking for Nicholas?"

"I am indeed, Messere Tethras. Have you seen him?" He fondly smiled at her, his favorite noble out of everyone else in the fortress.

"He's outside watching the Commander run his drills," he grinned. "Looks like you've got a future chevalier on your hands, my lady."

"Maker preserve me," she laughed. "I hope not." Taking her leave, she wandered back inside, up to the balcony where Madame de Fer spent most of her time, sighing when she found it empty. She had forgotten that the Iron Lady was out in the field with the Inquisitor. A loud racket echoed from the courtyard, floating in through the open balcony. Walking outside, Roselyn leaned against the smooth stone railing, mouth falling open at the sight below.

Cullen was sparring, with another of his lieutenants. Sweating. Shirtless. He was far enough away so that details of his physique were blurred, but what she saw... _Oh._ Golden skin glinted in the sunlight, his hair falling in loose waves around his face. The sounds of his grunts and taunts were loud enough to reach her, his sword clanging against the other man's blade. She stifled a tiny whimper, feeling a dampness grow between her thighs as she watched him move like some sinuous predator, a lion, perhaps, feral yet controlled. He was magnificent. And she wasn't the only one entranced by the spectacle. Dozens of ladies and lords and staff lined the training ring, giggling to themselves, whispering what were no doubt lewd suggestions to each other. She scowled, thinking of him with another woman. How she would moan as he kissed her neck, gasp as his hands brushed their breasts, scream as he- A loud cheer went up, as Cullen disarmed his lieutenant, sword leveled at his throat. With a hearty laugh, the other man clapped him on his back, the Commander grinning in triumph. He turned away, glancing up at the last second only to see Lady Roselyn, hand placed at the base of her throat, her eyes wide and searching. Flushing bright red, mingling with the extertion of the spar, he hesitantly offered a smile.

Roselyn squeaked as he smiled up at her. _Oh, Maker, he saw me. He must think I'm as horrible as the others._ Every muscle in her body screamed for her to flee, but she found herself unable to move her legs. So she did the only other thing she could. She smiled back, watching his grin grow even wider. A few ladies harrumphed to themselves, turning to see what the man was staring at, but there was only the rustle of skirts as the unknown lady fled the scene, leaving a chuckling Commander on the now empty field.

_She smiled back at me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter. The idea of shirtless Cullen also makes me drool. And Jason Momoa.


	7. Revelations

“My dear, your mourning period is over. I know you have some lovely dresses, perhaps one of them would brighten your day?” Roselyn inclined her head at the Lady Milot as she passed her in the main hall, fingers smoothing over the serviceable, plain navy cotton dress.

“Yes, I do. But I find so many memories tangled up with my old finery,” Lady Arceneaux murmured, gaze lowered as if the mere thought still brought her pain. “It is just… difficult.” In truth, she found she merely preferred the simple wear. It was comfortable, did not draw undue attention to herself. And she could distance herself from the Game in person. Helping the ambassador daily was enough for her tired brain, solving minor, meddling disputes, pleading for more Dales Loden Wool from this noble, or threatening another for ‘misinterpreting’ the weights of everite and dawnstone he billed them for. It was enough. She did not wish for the added burden of playing the Game every night with these… leeches. _The Commander is wearing off on me,_ she thought wryly. It was no great secret how the stern man despised the fancy Game, 'frivolous nonsense' as he called it, before he took one look at her bemused smirk and stumbled over himself for the next ten minutes, attempting apologize to her. The memory made her giggle.

A sudden crack of thunder ricocheted through the hall, making half of the assembled jump in shock. A torrential downpour, common in the spring, released from the sky as if a dam had been split open, sending the inhabitants of the courtyard scrambling for shelter. Sighing, she resigned herself to a day spent entirely indoors. _Where is Nicholas, anyways?_ The boy spent most of his time with the dwarven author, or the giant Qunari mercenary, who Roselyn found to be actually quite charming for such a large, boisterous man. Certainly not the kind of company a lady such as she should be keeping. _Oh, well._ The Tevinter mage was her favorite, next to the Commander, reminding her of a more enthusiastic, sarcastic version of Raphael. She felt comfortable with him, and spent most of her free time in his little alcove, tucked away amidst the dusty tomes in the library, sipping on a fine vintage of Antivan red. It was there she headed now.

“My dear Lady Arceneaux! I was hoping you'd drop by today. I just opened up a bottle of cabernet from the vineyards of Perivantium. Would you care for a glass?”

Smiling, she gratefully lowered herself into a cushioned chair, inhaling the red’s bouquet with an appreciative nose. “You always have the best wine, Dorian.”

“And you have the best taste.” Clinking their glasses, they settled into a comfortable silence, savoring the heady beverage, noses planted firmly in old parchment.

***

The pressure from storms such as these always made his headaches nigh on unbearable. Not to mention, his nightmares from the past several nights had left him suffering a lack of sleep. Messengers had been in and out all day, piling report after requisition on his desk. What he wouldn’t give for just three hours of undisturbed bliss. Perhaps now that the storm was upon them, he could attempt a nap. The northern door chose that moment to swing open with a loud bang, wind and rain pouring into his office. Apparently, he was asking too much. Sighing, he watched as the young Lord Nicholas ran in squealing, followed by the dwarven rogue who was attempting to catch him, gasping for breath.

“Andraste’s ti- uh, crap, kid. Your mother wants you inside. I can’t keep chasing you up and down these stairs. My legs weren’t made for human steps.” Giggling, the soaking wet boy hid behind the Commander.

“Nicholas. Didn’t you mother say to listen to Varric? Or else?” Eyes suddenly wide with apprehension, Nicholas lowered his head, nodding slowly in shame. Shaking his head, Cullen took the lad’s hand. “Varric, I’ll take him in. I need to talk to the Inquisitor anyways, go over the new maps I’ve received about the Arbor Wilds.”

Varric squinted at his old comrade. “Curly, you look like shit. Just add your old hair and you’d look just the same as you did in Kirkwall. When’s the last time you slept? Or ate?” Frowning, Cullen peered at himself in his breastplate, propped up a table behind him. Sure enough, dark circles under his eyes made him appear gaunt, his cheeks were losing the healthy fat he had accumulated these last months, and he desperately needed a shave. Sighing, he shrugged.

“I’ll eat when I go inside. Come on, son.”

“You’re not wearing your armor,” the boy pointed. “You look smaller.” Chucking, Cullen took his small hand.

“It’s raining pretty hard. I’d rather not have to scrape rust off my greaves for the next week. Let’s go find your mother now, shall we?”

The sound of the lower tower door violently flinging open and Solas’ muttered curse brought Roselyn to the railing to see what was going on. A man and a boy ran inside, the wind and rain howling behind them, both drenched to the bone. Shaking his head at the boy, both laughed, warming her heart, spraying the room with water to the elven mage’s disapproval.

“Sorry, Master Solas,” the boy bowed. _There he is_. Setting her wine and book down, she rushed down the stairs to meet him.

“Nicholas, Maker, child, you’re sopping! Here, let me-”

The man stood up, smiling bashfully at her. _It’s him. From Kirkwall_. His hair was wet, but they were the same curly, golden locks, plastered to his high brow. Warm, amber eyes crinkled with a few more wrinkles, and there was a new scar on his upper lip, but… There. Just visible above the open neckline of his tunic, an old blade wound cross a thin, silvery burn scar.

“Mama, the Commander brought me back inside, just like you wanted.” _It_ is _him. The Commander is… Oh sweet Andraste have mercy._

Aware that she was staring, Roselyn tore her eyes away from his chest, clearly visible under his now sheer shirt. _Maker. He’s even more fit than he was in Kirkwall!_ A red flush was slowly creeping up both of their faces. “Ah, you have my thanks, Commander,” she murmured. Avoiding his gaze, she grabbed her son’s arm and all but hauled him out of the solar, across the hall to where their rooms lay.

With him dried off and dressed warmly in a fresh pair of clean clothes, she sent him back out with instructions to remain inside. The fireplace beckoned her, so she sat, carelessly tossing a log onto the hearth. _Commander Cullen Rutherford is Nicholas’ father. He was in that tavern, for some reason not dressed in his templar armor. He… I can’t do anything. I can’t. What would I say? Oh, yes Cullen, I lied about being in Kirkwall. Remember bedding a drunk, short haired girl? Taking her maidenhead? 'Twas I. Here is your son, by the way._ She groaned as a timid knock echoed at her door. Hesitantly, Roselyn called out, “Yes?”

“It is I, Josephine,” her friend’s voice called. Opening the door, the women smiled at each other. “I thought you might care to join me and Leliana for some tea in my office? Warm up on this dreary day.”

“That sounds lovely.” With a friendly grin masking her distress, Roselyn stepped out of her room, following the other Antivan to her office, gorgeously appointed in a rich Orlesian rug and Antivan style furniture. “I always love it here. It reminds me of home.”

“It soothes me when I am feeling a little lost,” Josephine agreed. Pouring the tea, the three women settled comfortably around the fire, amicably chatting about the newest rumors, one that had Cassandra madly in love with Varric, another that had the Inquisitor in a relationship with both Sera, the Iron Bull, and Roselyn herself.

“Oh dear. I can’t imagine what that would be like. Bull would break me, I’m sure of it.” Giggling, Josephine leaned in.

“But aren’t you the slightest bit curious?”

“Perhaps,” Rosely laughed. At some point they had forgone the tea, and switched to brandy, the latter warming them up much more effectively.

“You seem distracted, Roselyn,” Leliana gently nudged her arm. “Is something amiss?”

“I…” There was no hiding her feelings from the former bard. “I had a revelation today. A rather serious situation, but… I am unsure how to proceed. Or even if I should. Perhaps some things are better left alone.” Holding her glass up to the firelight, she watched the flames dance through the honeyed liquid. _Just like his eyes._

“Does this revelation involve the Commander?” Sister Nightingale smirked. _She knows. Of course she knows. How does she-_

Josephine gasped in delight. “Oh! Did something happen? I see the way he watches you. I know he’s common born, but his service record is quite exemplary. And he’s such a good man.”

“I- Wait, he watches me? Oh, Andraste give me strength. No, it…”

“Lord Arceneaux wasn’t Nicholas’ father, was he?” Steely green eyes met her own.

Warily, Roselyn watched the other woman. “How did you know?”

“It is my job. I’d heard of your husband’s… preferences, shall we say. And my scouts did some digging. You were married to Lord Arceneaux at the same time you were betrothed to Lord Villena as well as missing from your parents’ household. You were caught just outside of Cumberland, which means you would have passed through Kirkwall the same time Cullen was stationed there. Quite the predicament.”

Numbly, the lady nodded. “I… did not wish to marry Villena. You’ve heard of him, his vices? Then you understand why I could not marry such a man. I ran, intent on heading to Val Royeaux. Perhaps to find work as a lady’s maid or something in a similar field. I stopped in Kirkwall one night, a ragged tavern in Lowtown. There was a man there. Handsome, wearing nondescript armor. I thought he was a common soldier, perhaps a guard. We…” Roselyn trailed off mutely, helpless gesturing with her hands. “Do I even say anything? This information cannot be widely know, else Raphael’s memory be tarnished and everything he worked for ripped away. He loved Nicholas. Treated him as his own. He is the sole heir to the Arceneaux estate. I cannot risk that.”

On the other side of the door, Cullen’s world crashed around him. He had been inside the war room, studying the markers, preparing for the march on the Arbor Wilds, before deciding to find a meal. He should have just walked past the ladies, but he had heard his name. And so he stopped, like a scoundrel, to eavesdrop just shy of the doorway. It was her. That night. The woman he never forgot. He had a son. Nicholas was his own flesh and blood. _And she intends to keep this from me?_ Pain, like a sharp, stabbing lance of fire pierced his heart. Stumbling into the room, he glared at the women.

“Nicholas is mine?!” Stunned, Roselyn stared at him, opening and closing her mouth, at a complete loss of what to do. So, she fled. Dropped her drink, heedless of the glass shattering across the stones, and ran out the room. His blood pounding in his head, Cullen made to chase her. A pale hand on his arm held him back.

“Wait, Cullen,” Leliana urged softly. “You’ve both just had a shock. She’s drunk, you’re angry. Wait until tomorrow. Talk with clear minds.”

“I-” he swung his hopeless gaze on the redhead. “I have a son. All this time, and… she never said.”

“She did not know, Cullen,” Josephine came to stand next to him. “She only just realized today that you were he. You never recognized her either, did you?”

“I… suspected. But the woman I met wasn’t dressed as a lady. And Lady Arceneaux is…”

“The epitome of Orlesian nobility?” Leliana smirked. Cullen nodded.

“Plan what you wish to say to her, calmly and collectedly. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, you can decide what to do.”

“Tomorrow.” Numbly, he made his way back to his tower, ignoring the calls and greetings along the way, knowing that rest would be the last thing he would do tonight, lost in the turmoil of his thoughts. _She’s here. I have a son. I’m a_ father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double posting because 2 short chapters and AHHH. HE KNOWS.


	8. Unwelcome Correspondence

The late morning sun streamed across her face, rousing her from her drunken slumber. Her eyes were bleary, red, and swollen, the struggle of opening her lid almost too much to bear. _I must have cried myself to sleep_. Groaning, she stretched her aching muscles, shuffling over to her basin, pouring water from a porcelain ewer and washing her face with the frigid liquid. Thus refreshed, a note on the floor under her door caught her attention.

_My lady, Master Varric took Nicholas for the day. I was asked to tell you that the Commander would be pleased if you joined him in the garden at the noon bell for lunch. I’ll be back shortly before to help you dress. --Sofia_

The door cracked open just at that instant. “My lady,” Sofia bobbed, holding out a dress that was a muted, soft blue, all soft velvet edged with cream lace, a modest sweetheart neckline emphasizing the swell of her chest. If the sweet maid suspected anything, she gave no indication of it. Nodding her approval, Roselyn stood as she was laced tightly into her corset, the warm dark eggplant velvet dress lowered over her and tied off. Pinning half of her hair atop her head, the rest was allowed to fall in loose waves to the center of her back, catching the sunlight as she moved. Satisfied with her handiwork, Sofia shooed her out of the room to go meet ‘that handsome Ferelden’. The Ferelden who was the father of her son. Who now _knew_ he was the father of her son. _Maker. What a mess._

The garden was unusually deserted that day, the normal nobles and lay sisters that frequented the soothing enclosure missing. The chess set was gone as well, having been replaced by a spread of roast pheasant, lightly sautéed vegetables, and fresh, steaming bread. Two empty wine glass stood beside a bottle of white wine, slick with condensation. From somewhere to her right, a throat cleared. Warily, she turned toward the sound.

“I had hoped…” Cullen trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah. Would you join me for lunch, Lady Roselyn?” Mutely nodding, she let him lead her to the table, gently pushing her chair in before take the one opposite. Sighing, he handed her a glass of wine, his expression inscrutable. “May I ask you a question?” She nodded. “The Z. What did it stand for?”

 _The Z? What… Oh. The note I left_. “My name is Roselyn Zarahya Arceneaux, formerly of House Araneta, of Antiva. I… I lied to you. About Kirkwall. Of which I’m sure you are now aware. I was betrothed to one Lord Villena, a man that was rumored to be cruel, whose preference in bed partners lay in women younger that I was. Younger, in fact, than my 14 year old sister. I did not wish to marry him.” His nose scrunched up in disgust at her words.

“He- Maker. No one does anything?” His hands gripped his wine stem tightly, cause Roselyn to idly wonder if it would snap.

“It is Antiva, Commander. Home of the Crows and debauchery. This sort of behavior, while repugnant, is not so unusual if done discreetly. Last I heard, my sister married him in my stead.” Frowning, she took a small sip of the light wine. “I ran. Cut my hair. Stole a set of leather armor from my father’s guardhouse. I was going to Val Royeaux to start a new life. You, I did not anticipate. It was… a spur of the moment decision. One I do not regret, even to this day.”

His head snapped up at that. “You don’t?”

A small smile on her lips, she shook her head. “No. Besides the fact that the night itself was… rather enjoyable,” he blushed, “It saved me from a life with Villena, as he no longer wanted a tainted woman. It gave me Nicholas. Led me to Raphael. We had a good life, Commander.”

“You loved him.” His voice was soft, not accusing, merely stating his observation.

“Love,” she murmured. “Yes, I did. We were the best of friends. He was kind to me, raised Nicholas as his own, valued my opinion, trusted me. He was more than I deserved. But love beyond that of friendship, no. Raphael preferred a different sort of bedmate.” At Cullen’s confused face, she giggled. “He was a lover of men. That is why he married me. He needed an heir, but did not desire to produce one himself. His features were similar enough to… yours, that no one would question the child’s parentage. You understand, I hope, that no one else can know of this? If they did, his name would be trampled through the mud. The Arceneauxs would lose all he worked for. Nicholas’ memory of his father would be tarnished, and he would be denied his inheritance.” A dark cloud shadowed Cullen’s brow.

“I am his father.”

“Yes, you are,” she whispered. “But so was Raphael.” With a weary sigh, he leaned back in the chair, staring at the uneaten food. “So what happens now? Will you declare your right as his true parent? Take him from me?”

“Maker’s breath, no, Roselyn! I-” Rubbing his face, he groaned. “This is such a mess. I want… to get to know him better. He’s already a delightful lad. I won’t mention anything to him, or anyone else, until you give me leave. I just… want to be a part of his life. And-” he swallowed nervously, “Yours.”

 _Oh_. Her shimmering eyes locked onto his, mouth held slightly open, gaping at him. “Me?”

“You,” he reached for her hand, gratified when she didn’t pull away. Tracing circles into her soft flesh, he tentatively smiled at her. “I never was able to get you out of my mind. Not since that night. Every time I was in a crowd, I searched for you, in hopes that one day, I might find you again. You-” his voice was a hoarse whisper now, “you have haunted my dreams all these years. I never forgot you. I know it was only one night, but it was… arguably the best night of my life.” Suddenly pushing away, he leapt to his feet and began to pace the gazebo. “I know I am not a noble. I’m a son of a farmer. Ferelden. If the Inquisition ever ended, I’d be a nobody again. I don’t know if you- that is, whether you would-” He fumbled for the right words, stopping to glower at his feet.

“Cullen.” Gracefully rising to her feet, she cautiously approached him, taking his calloused hands into hers. “Your lack of title means nothing to me. I find myself growing weary of the Game as of late, anyhow. I…” Her throat bobbed, a slender hand reaching for his stubbled cheek.

With a sharp inhale, Cullen threw caution to the wind. Wrapping an arm around her waist, the other tangling in her hair, he pulled her to his chest, gently cradling her head as he lowered his mouth to hers. It was… everything he remembered and more. Her lips were full and soft, hesitantly moving over his, allowing his tongue to sweep deeper inside, tasting her skin, the hot cavern of her mouth. Nipping at her bottom lip, a sharp jolt of desire made his body twitch as she moaned softly against him. Breathing deeply, he remembered- jasmine and bergamot. Minutes, or hours, they stood there, clinging to each other in a deep embrace, lost in each other. She sighed happily as he pulled away, drinking in the sight of him before her, hair mussed, eyes bright, lips swollen. Knowing she looked much the same, she hid her face in his chest, relishing in the feel of his strong arms holding her tight.

“This is… more than I hoped,” he murmured into her hair.

“I, as well.” Looking down into her sparkling green and gold eyes, he grinned, stress and age falling off of his countenance, revealing the strapping, optimistic farmer’s boy underneath the weary former templar. 

“The food grows cold. Shall we eat, my lady?” A matching delighted sparkle on her own face, she accepted his hand.

“That sounds delightful, Commander.”

***

“You’re oozing happiness. It’s positively sickening.” The altus sniffed at her, hiding his grin. “The Commander, too. Did you know he smiled at me the other day? Smiled! At me! His smirk should be illegal. I don’t know how you don’t spontaneously combust when he kisses you. I’m just a casual observer and I can feel my robes steaming.”

Her laugh was light and bright, tinkling like a chorus of bells through the dusty library. “I confess I feel much of the same. Like a giddy schoolgirl. It’s rather embarrassing for a woman of my age.”

“It suits you. So, tell me more.”

Shrugging, she took a sip of the heady wine. “We spend at least an hour a day together when his schedule permits. He almost always makes time for Nicholas and I to sup with him. The Commander is a very kind man, honest, and gracious. It’s surprising he’s not already involved with another.”

“Believe, I’ve tried,” Dorian chuckled dryly.

A rustle of silk behind her jarred them from their teasing revelry. “Ah, Lady Arceneaux. I have a letter for you,” Josephine smiled as she crossed the stone floors. “It’s from your father, Lord Araneta.” Roselyn stared as the parchment as if it were a poisonous snake, coiled in preparation to bite her. The ambassador’s arm faltered, as she realized this was not a welcome interlude. “I… will leave it here for you, then, sí?” Carefully, she placed the seemingly innocuous envelope on the small side table next to the bottle of red.

“I take it your father is as charming as mine?” Dorian drawled. “Did he try to change you with blood magic as well?”

Jerking as if he had electrocuted her, she violently shook her head, “Andraste preserve me, no. Your father used blood magic on you?”

“He tried,” the altus shrugged. “Well, it can’t be all that bad. Better go and get it over with my dear.” Grimacing, she pried the paper apart, scanning the neat, swirling penmanship.

“ _Dearest daughter,_

_Word has reached us in Antiva of Lord Raphael’s death. You have our deepest condolences. We wrote to your steward in hopes you would consider returning to Antiva for a spell, as you and Nicholas should not have to mourn alone. It was a considerable surprise to learn that you have signed your talents on with the Inquisition, or perhaps not such a strange thing, considering how enamored your late husband was with the organization. I have a mind to see this so-called Herald of Andraste myself and the sort of following he has attracted. I will arrive at Skyhold seven weeks hence from when you receive this letter. Lord Villena and Mariana have expressed their desire to accompany us. I hope a party of our size will not prove to be a difficulty for the staff. I look forward to seeing you daughter, and meeting my grandson._

_Your loving father,_

_Lord Philipe Araneta”_

The paper silently slipped through her fingers, settling under her vacated chair. Her eyes vacantly stared at the space where it had just been, mouth slightly gaped open, immobile, not breathing. _My father, coming here? With Villena and Mari of all people? Oh, sweet Maker, what have I done to deserve this?_

“Lady Roselyn?” Dorian’s brow furrowed in concern. “Are you well?”

“Pardon me, Altus Pavus,” she whispered. “I have matters I must see to.” Forgoing her usual smile and curtsy, she aimless drifted down the stairs, feet automatically taking her across the hall, into the ambassador’s office. “Josephine? I fear I must ask you a favor.”

Leaping up from her desk, the Antivan rushed to her friend, gently drawing the stricken lady to the sofa. “Of course, Roselyn, whatever you need.”

“My father and Lord… Villena,” her voice faltered, “will be here in seven weeks for a visit. I fear he will try to take Nicholas from me, in order to absorb Raphael’s business into his own. I need to ensure that does not happen. I cannot lose my son. Please,” she begged, tears filling her dark green eyes. 

“I will do my utmost, Roselyn. May I inform Leliana as well? She could prove more useful than I in this endeavor. Unfortunately, I will be in the Arbor Wilds with our army when they arrive, but she will remain here.”

 _That means Cullen won’t be here either. Or Dorian. Or anyone else I know. Oh, Maker, I will have to face them alone._ “Whoever you need to tell. I trust you, my friend.” Numbly, she took her leave of Josephine, wandering into the main hall, unsure of where to go next. Should she even stay here? Take Nicholas and leave? He was her entire life. If she lost him… It did not bear even considering.

“Lady Roselyn?” A warm baritone echoed in her ear. Spinning around, she looked up into the smiling, handsome face of the Commander, promptly bursting into tears. Cullen stared for a split second, unsure of what to do. Luckily for him, she solved the dilemma by throwing herself against his chest, bereft of his usual armor. Drawing his arms around her shaking frame, he gently murmured soothing words of what he hoped was comfort in her hair. “Let’s get you somewhere private.” Nodding, she allowed him to lead her out of the sparsely populated throne room, into the corridor, and up to her room. As soon as the door closed, she shamelessly threw herself back into his strong arms, tears still flowing. “What happened?”

“My father is coming,” she replied bitterly, sniffling. “I suspect he is going to try to take Nicholas from me. In order to stake a claim on Raphael’s mines.”

Cullen stiffened. A powerful wave of protectiveness slammed into him. _I'll be damned if I let anyone lay a hand on my son. My son._ It still sounded strange to him, but he could not deny the boy was his. His face was almost identical to his brother Branson when he was a child. Nicholas was his. And Cullen kept was belonged to him. “I won’t let him take him, Roselyn. You have my word.”

She shook her head into his chest, her broken wails tearing at his heart. “You won’t even be here when they arrive in seven weeks. Lord Villena is coming as well. You will be in the Arbor Wilds, along with Josephine, and Lord Maxwell, and Altus Dorian, and everyone else I trust. I will be powerless to try and stop him should he decide to remove Nicholas by force or subterfuge.”

“No,” Cullen pulled her away by her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze. “He will not. My second-in-command, Ser Rylen, will be here, as will Leliana and a number of her agents. I will leave orders to ensure that no one leaves with our son. He will be safe from your father’s machinations. You said seven weeks? We leave in two days, so there is a chance I could be back by then. Albeit a slim chance, but it exists nonetheless.”

Honestly, she stopped listening after he said ‘our son’. A strange, warm tingling enveloped her chest, radiating down her arms into her fingertips. Their son. This, him being here, wanting to be a part of their lives, wanting to be with her- it seemed to good to be true. He wasn’t the type to just attach herself in hopes of gaining her fortune, was he? No, no she knew him better than that. He was a humble, modest man with no aspirations greater than to protect and defend those in need. Feeling suddenly brazen, she grabbed his tunic in her hands, pulling him close for a deep kiss.

Cullen gasped into her mouth, wholly unprepared for her assault, his member springing to life almost immediately. With a low groan, he tangled one hand in her dark curls, tugging her head back to allow him more access to her sweet, warm mouth, splaying the other against the small of her back. Breathlessly, he moved his lips down her neck, gently scraping his teeth against her smooth skin, laving his tongue against her flickering pulse point as her fingernails reached up to scratch his scalp, her body grinding against his. “Ros,” he moaned, “If you don’t stop moving like that, I’m not going to be able to control myself.”

“Who said I wanted you to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment we've all been waiting for! Smutthanger! Also, yes, her dad is still a dick.


	9. Desires of the Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

“Who said I wanted you to control yourself?”

Jerking back, he stared into her eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. All he saw was her dark, emerald green eyes hazy with lust, tiny golden motes catching the rays of the late afternoon sun. Her mouth opened just enough to allow her wet tongue to dart out, licking her full, dark pink lips. He was gone. With a rumbling growl, he reached down, grabbing her under her plump ass, and unceremoniously hauled her into her bedroom, tongue seeking hers in a battle of wills. He cursed, fingers fumbling at the laces of her dress.

“Just leave it,” she begged, “I need you now. Please, Cullen.” It was hearing his name spoken in that breathless moan that really unraveled him, sending a electrical shock through his veins. Pushing her away, he flipped her around with ease, strong arms pinning her chest against the soft bed, rough, calloused hands pushing her skirts up to her waist to rip off her soaked smalls. Keeping one hand on her lower back, pressing her down against the edge of the mattress, he thumbed open his trousers, taking his heavy cock out, idly stroking his length as he inspected her. 

Maker’s breath, she was wet. Her slick folds were a glistening dark brown, the pink hidden underneath just barely peeking out. “Cullen! Please!” Her hips ground against the bed, desperately seeking some friction, anything to relieve that burning ache that had settled deep in her belly. Chuckling, he didn’t budge.

“Patience, my sweet. This is so much better than last time. I can see everything so much better now in the light.” She blushed, imagining the spectacle she presented to him right now, naked ass up in the air, legs spread apart. Her hips bucked involuntarily again, the pulsing desire rapidly rising. “Maker’s breath, but you’re beautiful.” Dropping to his knees, he buried his face between her thighs, tongue licking a slow path up her slit, hands gripping her cheeks, holding her wide open. 

Roselyn keened, lost in the sensation of his tongue, licking slow circles around her pearl, just short of the pressure she so desperately wanted. A long finger stroked her, coating itself in her juices before trailing up to the puckered hole above. Gasping, she tensed, waiting to see what he would do next. His lips vibrated against her clit as he mumbled from behind, “Has anyone ever taken you here?”

She shook head, then realized he couldn’t see it. “N-No,” she squeaked. His smile was felt, rather than seen, against her skin. “A-ah! You’re- you’re the only one I’ve ever… Maker.”

“Ever what?” he teased, plunging another finger inside her, slowly curling them down, finding that rough patch inside of her that would set her aflame.

Her pleasure was so exquisite, she felt like sobbing. “Ever had. You were my first, and only.” Cullen froze. He was the only one she had ever slept with? That’s right. Her husband did not care for women. Had she never taken a lover before? Fast as a pouncing lion, he withdrew his fingers and face and snugged his hips against her, rubbing his erection up and down the length of her ass.

“I’m the only one?” he demanded hoarsely.

“Yes,” she breathed, wiggling her hips enticingly. It was all the encouragement he needed. With one forceful thrust, he slid inside her, feeling her tight walls stretch open harshly to allow him access. Somewhere in the depths in his mind, he thought perhaps he should have been slower, more gentler, but his baser urges commanded he take her now. Easing up just a bit, slowly rolling his hips as she relaxed, he leaned over her back, capturing her lips, drawing out a sweet, soft tender kiss as a counterpoint to his steely length, roughly hilted within her.

“Roselyn, I-” He was at a loss for word. This beautiful creature, the mother of his child, a graceful and well respected noblewoman- he was the only one who had ever experienced this with her. He was the only one who had ever known her as a woman knows a man, shown her the carnal delights of the flesh. Suddenly, he wanted to show her more, find out what made her sigh in bliss, what made her moan and her toes curl, what made her scream. He wanted to be the only one, and she for him, for the rest of their lives. “Fuck.” 

Snapping his hips back, he teased her dripping folds with the tip of his weeping cock, watching the head slowly fuck her from behind. His fingers found her clit again, swollen from his earlier attention. “Cullen, stop teasing me!”

He leaned in close to her ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“You!” she wailed, trying to jerk her hips back to draw him in more.

Slipping out from her tightness, ignoring her frustrated snarl, he flipped her onto her back, dragging her closer to the edge and plunging back in. Her face was flushed, eyes almost black with desire, hair a radiant halo of messy curls fanned out over the duvet. “Oh, Roselyn,” he groaned, burying himself in her again, “The things I want to do to you.”

“Then do them!” she pleaded. “Anything you want, just-”

“Just what?” He smirked, watching her eyes widen.

“Just let me come!”

Grinning in triumph, he braced himself. “Your wish is my command, my lady.” Grinding his cock deep within her, he set a brutal pace, the sounds of their flesh slapping against each other mingling with her breathless mewls and his low grunts. Far faster than he wished, his pleasure built up, the pressure gaining and tightening his balls as they smacked against her ass. “Roselyn, come for me sweetheart,” he groaned. His thumb found her pearl once again, pressing firm, quick circles against the nub, his hips angling up, penetrating her even further than before.

“Yesyesyes right there, oh Maker, Cul-len!” She came with a shattered cry, spine arching in a glorious curve, her walls clenching almost painfully around his rock hard length, her spasms slowly fading as he continued to fuck her through the wave of pleasure. Hips stuttering, he joined her three thrusts later with a wordless roar, blonde curls sticking to his sweaty forehead, eyes screwed shut as his cock pulsed inside her, draining him of everything.

Panting, he braced himself over her limp body, gazing down at her rapturous smile. “Hello,” he murmured.

“Hi,” she giggled. He felt her fingers brush his hair back, trailing through the sweat on his face to cup his cheek. “That was even better than the first time.”

“And we didn’t even remove all our clothes,” he smiled ruefully.

“Next time,” Roselynn assured him. _Next time? She wants a next time with me?_ His shock must have shown on his face. “That is, if you want to,” she amended, turning her face away with a blush.

“Ros, look at me.” Her gaze slowly drifted back to him. “Are you sure you want this? With me?”

“More sure than I have ever been of anything.” Emerald green eyes sparkled back at him, full of hope and desire and- _could that be love? No. It couldn’t be. Could it?_

“What did I do to deserve you?” Sighing in bliss, his heart fluttering restlessly inside his chest, Cullen laid his cheek against hers, peppering any skin within reach of his lips with kisses.

“You were kind to a lost traveler in a dirty tavern, apparently,” she teased.

He chucked. “Yes, well… You were most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on. How could I not?” With a regretful long breath, he pushed himself up, slipping his sticky member out of her, using the remnants of her smalls to wipe himself and her off. “Ah- sorry about these. I guess I was a little too eager.”

Her laughed warmed his soul from the inside out, making him grin like a lovestruck fool. Maybe he was. “It’s quite alright. If that’s the result, you can rip as many pairs as you please.” Pulling her close to his chest, he kissed to the tip of her nose.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I need to go back to work now, lest my men think I’ve fallen off the edge of Thedas. Er… I’ll try to be discreet when leaving. Some people saw me coming up here, and well, we’ve been up here for a long time.” His expression was abashed, a red flush creeping up his neck.

“Oh,” her face turned a matching set of red. “Well, if they see, they see. There isn’t much we can do about it. I don’t regret it.” Staring in awe at her, he tenderly lifted an elegant hand to his lips.

“Nor do I.”

“Will you have supper with Nicholas and I tonight?” she asked hopefully.

“I would not miss it for the world.”

***

Roselyn smiled indulgently at her son, watching his overenthusiastic reenactment of his “spar” session with the Iron Bull from earlier today. Whatever residual qualms she kept regarding the massive Qunari mercenary had all but dissipated as she observed the man’s gentle nature, the way he was always polite and respectful to her and careful with Nicholas. Cullen sat next to him, intently listening as words such as “sa-word” and “Qunri” were bandied about.

“I wanna be a knight, just like you, Cul!”

Cullen grinned, ruffling his black curls. “I’m not a knight, son. Just another soldier.”

“You look like a knight.”

“I used to be a templar. They are similar to knights. Or were.” A dark shadow crossed his eyes. “Besides, you are going to be a great lord one day, back in Val Firmin.”

“Don’t wanna be a lord,” Nicholas pouted. “That’s so booooring. I wanna fight dragons! Slay darkspawn! Protect the innocent!” Leaping up onto his chair, he brandished an imaginary sword.

“Nicholas,” his mother snapped. With a sheepish smile, the boy dropped back into his seat.

“Sorry, mama.” Cullen ducked his head to the side, trying to hide his grin. Nicholas was so full of life and spirit, spending his days with his wooden sword in his hand, “saving” everything from a little girl’s doll to a stray cat to sweetmeat pies. The lad reminded him of himself when he was that age. A foreign sense of pride welled up in his chest. His son. It had a wonderful ring, he decided. And his mother… Roselyn was daintily slicing her food into tiny bites, demurely chewing each small morsel, the epitome of good breeding and nobility. What was he thinking, trying to picture a future with her? She deserved someone who could give her the things she was used to. Sure, she said she didn’t care, but how could she not? Wealth and comfort were all she had ever known. No, she left all that behind once. Surely she would consider doing it again?

A delicate eyebrow rose at his staring. “Is something wrong, Cullen?”

Startled, he dropped his fork. “I, ah- I was just- Andraste preserve me," he muttered, attempting to smoothly recover. "I was merely admiring your beauty, my lady." Roselyn giggled at his awkward stammering. _Well, at least my foolishness can amuse her_. Nicholas frowned, dragging his gaze back and forth between his mother and the Commander.

“He likes you,” he announced.

“Oh?” Roselyn smiled. “What makes you think that?”

“He’s always looking at you with a smile. Does that mean he’s in love with you mama? Do you love him?”

The lady’s eyes widened as she struggled for words, Cullen in no better shape. “Er… Just because people look at each other doesn’t mean they’re in love, darling. It might mean they’re just interested. Or they find the other person pleasing to look at.” Cullen nodded his agreement, still unable to trust his voice.

“Oh. I think love would be better. He makes you happy,” the boy informed her. Turning to pin her with a stare, Cullen smirked at her blush.

“Yes, well,” she sniffed, refusing to meet his cheeky grin. “Are you finished eating, Nicholas? Then it’s time to start settling down.”

“Master Varric promised me a story! Can I go? Can I?” Nodding to her son, the pair watched him scamper down from the second floor of the tavern, still mostly empty this early in the evening, beelining for the main hall.

“I make you happy?” he murmured in that low, delicious voice of his.

“Mmm,” she hummed, scooting over on the bench to make room for him next to her. “You do.”

Dark curls softly shone in the firelight, the scent of jasmine enveloping him as he nuzzled her ear. “I’m glad. We leave tomorrow, you know. I am loathe to leave you for so long. Hopefully, our armies will sweep his off the map, and I can rush back here to you.”

“I hope so, too. Oh, Maker, I will worry so while you are gone. Promise me you will be careful, Cullen. I don’t think I could bare to lose you. Not now.” Tears rimmed her eyes as she pleaded with him, her hands curled up in his loose shirt.

“I promise. I just found you again. Don’t think I will let you go so easily,” he gently dropped a kiss to her lips, teasing her mouth open for him.

“I intend to hold you to that, my love.” His lips froze over hers. Raising his amber eyes, he watched her pupils dilate as she realized what she had just said. “Cullen. I love you. I know this is more than likely too soon, but I-” Whatever else she planned to say was lost to depths of his mouth, fastened securely on hers, his broad arms pinning her tightly against his chest.

“I love you, too, Roselyn,” he managed to gasp in between kisses. “Maker, I never thought it possible.” A content sigh escaped her lips as she leaned into him, snuggling her face into the crook of his neck. “I don’t deserve you. There are… things about my past I must tell you. I will understand if you wish to discontinue our relationship after that. But you have to know, before… Before this goes further.”

“Then tell me.”

The night got away from them as Cullen described his past, how he was tortured at Kinloch, the chaos that was Kirkwall, and his most recent decision to abstain from lyrium. Haltingly at first, words eventually began tumbling over each other, desperate to make her understand why he had done the things he had, and how badly he wanted to atone for his sins now. What he didn't expect was her full understanding.

"You are so brave," she murmured, pressing a sweet peck to the tip of his nose. "And strong. Hush," she placed her finger over his mouth to curtail his protests. "To have survived so much and still be here, willing to fight and defend and _love_ , Cullen, how can you not see how remarkable you are?"

"I'm glad you think so," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with a rueful expression. "The withdrawals cause me some grief. I can be prone to... mood swings, hallucinations, and nightmares, among more manageable side effects. I would not wish to harm you or Nicholas."

"I don't believe you could, Commander." Her voice was firm, eyes determined as she held his gaze. "I trust you."

"So, you still want... this? With me?" Waiting with bated breath, all the tension strung through his muscles fled as she smiled, warmth flooding through his soul.

"Of course." Wrapping her back up in his arms, he sighed, truly happy and at peace for the first time in years.

"I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sappy fluffy stuff. <3


	10. The Wolves Arrive

Skyhold felt so empty with the Inquisitor and all his companions gone, as well as most of the army. Only a skeleton force remained to protect the inhabitants of the keep. With very little to keep her occupied besides the occasional correspondence, Roselyn had taken up attempting to read every single book in the library. Starting with the Tale of the Champion, by none other than Varric Tethras. 

Cullen had told her about Kinloch, the abominations released by blood mages that had overwhelmed the circle, murdering templars and mages alike. Imprisoning him. Torturing him. Maker, she had no idea how he survived. And then he had been sent to Greenfell, to recover and regain some stability, before being thrust into Kirkwall. She had heard a little about the mage rebellion that had occurred there, but she could never have imagined it was this bad. Thumbing the pages of the book, she could feel her heart tightening in sympathy for the Knight-Commander, torn between his duty and what he believed was the right thing to do. How he allowed himself to be swayed by Meredith, before finally taking a stand, defying his Knight-Commander and standing with the Champion. It was a thrilling story, except it had actually happened. To the man she loved.

It changed nothing, of course. It was just as she told him. The man he was now, that man was good, kind, and trying so damn hard to atone for his sins. She loved him, and that meant all of him, and she would stand by him for as long as he desired. Despite what some thought. Such as Madame de Fer. Roselyn wrinkled her nose at the thought of the First Enchanter.

Vivienne had approached her earlier the day before the army left, remarking on her romance with the Commander. “I can see why you’d be attracted to him, a beautiful, lonely widow as yourself. He is quite handsome, after all. But be careful, my dear. You may alienate a prospective suitor by attaching yourself to a commoner such as him, regardless of his current status.”

“Prospective suitor, Madame? I was not aware I had any.”

“Well, not yet, of course,” she smoothed her silk robes, examining her delicately manicured nails. “But there will be. You are still young, beautiful, and you come from respected stock. I would not be surprised if you managed to attract the attention of a Marquis, even a Duke.”

“I married once for politics. I would prefer, if I chose to marry again, to marry for love.”

“You say that now. But you must think of your son and any other children you may yet have.”

Stiffly, Roselyn had excused herself from the conversation. She did not wish to argue with one so influential and catty as the Iron Lady. Her son was set, secure in his inheritance from Lord Arceneaux. Whatever other children she might yet be blessed with would learn to be happy with what they had. Even if all they had was a small house in the country. They would have a mother and a father, who loved them beyond all reason.

Cullen. Would he wish to marry her? Did she want to marry him? What would the nobility say if she did? Did she care what they said? No, it did not matter. All that she cared about in this world was Nicholas, and him. Sighing, she closed the book in her lap, her concentration fleeting as she took a small sip of wine, gazing out of the window. A messenger swiftly ascended the stairs, making his way to the alcove in which she sat.

“My lady? A caravan has been sighted. Your father approaches.” Nodding her thanks, Roselyn took a deep breath. And another. And another. It was time. Standing up, she checked her reflection in the window. Her hair was pulled back into a modest bun, befitting her status as a widowed lady. She wore a deep red, almost black, taffeta gown with a high neckline, putting aside her simpler fare for the visit. Steeling herself, she whisked herself down to the main hall, pulling Nicholas away from his tutor.

“Darling, there is someone who is coming that would like very much to meet you. It is my father, your grandfather, Lord Philipe Araneta. Also your Aunt Mariana and her husband Lord Fernando Villena.” His dark eyes widened.

“I have a grandfather? Why have I never met him before, mama?”

Sighing, she brushed his unruly hair back. “He lives far away, in Antiva. But he is coming now. Mind your manners, child.” Motioning for him to follow, she headed for the main entrance, the spymaster descended from her rookery to accompany her.

“Lady Arceneaux,” Leliana smiled. “Are you ready?”

“No,” Roselyn muttered. “But it does not matter.”

“Cullen has given me orders, my Lady. Nothing will befall your son,” her Orlesian accent was warm and firm. Giving a tenuous smile to the bard, the women waited patiently at the bottom of stairs for the carriages to stop. A nobleman of regal disposition exited the door first, looking very much the same as he had the last time she saw him, perhaps with a few more lines around his mouth.

“Father,” she curtsied. “I trust your journey was well.”

“Well enough,” he huffed, studying and summarily dismissing Sister Nightingale, attention drawn to the boy standing solemnly behind her. “This is him?”

“Nicholas, say hello to your grandfather.”

Giving a tiny, stiff, proper bow, Nicholas straightened, looking the man in the eyes. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Araneta.”

His eyebrows rose a fraction, pleased with his response. Another man climbed out of the carriage behind him, his black shoulder length hair pulled back in an elegant ponytail. Lord Villena was a handsome man, of that she had no doubt. He was of slim build, lightly muscled, a perfectly groomed mustache and beard adoring his sculpted face. It was his eyes that belied his friendly smile. They were sharp, cruel, and calculating, appraising her figure. Roselyn repressed a shiver, feeling naked suddenly, and waited for her sister to appear. She gasped.

The years had not been kind to Mariana. Dark circles plagued her eyes, cheeks slightly hollow, not enough to warrant a comment, but enough that her sister recognized the change. Once bright eyes had dulled to a lusterless glint. Her belly was slightly swollen with the beginnings of her pregnancy, gently showing under her high waistline. Their eyes met, an unknown emotion flashing behind her tired eyes.

“Lord Villena, sister, welcome to Skyhold. Unfortunately, the Inquisitor is in the Arbor Wilds with the rest of the army, mounting an assault against Corypheus, but hopefully, he shall return before you leave. May I introduce Sister Leliana, Left Hand of the late Divine Justinia, seneschal of the Inquisition?” The Nightingale’s eyes held no warmth as she smiled graciously at the trio.

“I bid you welcome, on behalf of the Inquisition. I am sure you would prefer to rest up a bit before supper? The attendants will show you to your rooms.”

“Excellent,” Villena clapped his hands. “I could do with a nap. As could you, Mariana. You look positively exhausted.” Murmuring her assent, his pregnant wife dutifully followed her husband into the keep.

“I shall see you at supper, daughter?” Her father turned to inspect his second born child. “You are looking well. Motherhood suits you, it appears.”

“I did well, under Lord Arceneaux’s care,” she replied.

“You miss him?” Lord Araneta seemed surprised.

“Very much so,” Roselyn inclined her head. _Although, perhaps not as much these days_. “He was a good man, an attentive husband, and a doting father. I could not have asked for more.”

His expression softened as a genuine smiled crossed his face. “It does me well to hear that, querida. I will see you at supper.” Bidding her father a good rest, she watched the man disappear.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Leliana remarked.

“Yet,” Roselyn groaned.

***

As expected, Lord Villena did most of the talking at supper. They had been joined by several other of the higher nobility that resided in Skyhold for the time being, passing along bits of gossip and business as they ate and drank the rich fare the staff had prepared for the visitors. Roselyn remained mostly silent, watching her sister. Something was decidedly off. Was she merely ill from the pregnancy, as she claimed? Laughing, her husband waved his arm in an enthusiastic gesture, Roselyn’s eyes narrowing slightly as Mariana flinched. _She's afraid of him. He’s beating her. Or otherwise abusing her. The bastard. And Father does nothing?_

The meal dragged on as she patiently waited for an opening to talk to her sister in private. Finally, the men took to their brandy, wandering outside to have a few cigars, leaving the ladies to their own business. Gliding over to where her sister still sat, motionless, Roselyn gently touched her shoulder. “Mari. How are you?”

“Quite well, thank you,” her voice had lost its bite. “You look well,” she rejoined in a bitter voice.

“Um. Yes. It helps, to be able to work with the Inquisition. Gives me a purpose. Mari, talk to me. What’s wrong? Is Villena treating you fairly? Is it everything you hoped marriage to him would be?”

At the sound of her husband’s name, Mariana winced, before drawing herself up. “Oh, yes, sister dear. His business flourishes, now extending throughout Nevarra and even Tevinter, can you imagine? You should see the jewels he brought back for me from his last trip.” On and on she rambled about her fancy clothes and trinkets, but Roselyn sensed these things no longer had the same appeal they once did to the teenager she had been. Mariana was speaking simply to fill the silence.

“Catching up with your dear sister?” a charming voice called. Her sister paled and stilled, ceasing her animated gestures.

“Yes, husband.” Villena smiled patronizingly at his wife. 

“Why don’t you go mingle, Mariana? Lord and Lady Hughes have been wanting to meet you.”

“Of course, husband.” Roselyn watched her expressionless sister shuffle off, the slightest of frowns marring her forehead.

“Lady Arceneaux, you look excellent,” her brother-in-law sidled closer to her. “Even better than before you had your bastard. Pregnancy does not suit my Mariana, as you can tell.”

Smiling tightly at him, she took a small step back. “My lord is too kind. I am certain she will back to her effusive self before long. Some women have it harder during this time.”

“I imagine you must be quite lonely, now that your dear husband has departed.”

She didn’t like the glint in his eyes or the suggestion in his velvety voice. What was he insinuating? “My work with the Inquisition and raising Nicholas keeps me occupied, my lord.”

“Hmm.” His eyes raked up and down her figure, settling several moment longer than propriety dictated on her bosom. “Perhaps I should have married you after all. I could have given the bastard to the chantry. I imagine you are… much more pleasant in the delights of the flesh.”

Jerking back, she glared at him, unable to curb her tongue for once. “I thought your tastes ran differently, Lord Villena.” Grinning lazily, he chuckled, taking his hand in hers and pulling her closer.

“Oh, my dear. My tastes are widely varied. Let us stop this dance, hmm? I think you know what your father and I are here for.”

“You will not have him,” she hissed.

“Is that what you believe? It is of no consequence. A widow like yourself, uneducated in the ways of the world, must need the protection of a man. So I propose a deal for you, bella. Come back to Antiva with me. I will leave your sister be. Oh, don’t look at me like that, I know you’ve noticed. Very perceptive, you are, unlike your father. I will leave her alone, and your son will be treated as befits a lord of Orlais and Antiva, while I manage his estate, of course. And you…” he lowered his mouth to her ear, voice dropping an octave, “Will be mine.”

Her eyes widened in shock. _How dare he?_ “Pardon me?”

“Or, you can make this difficult on yourself. I keep your sister as my pet. My companions are quite fond of her, after all. And your son will be no more than a trapped bird, living in a gilded cage. And you will be mine, regardless.”

“Why do you even want me?”

“Why not?” he grinned. “You are quite lovely, more so than your dull sister. And your late husband’s mines will prosper under my care, an excellent addition to my assets.”

“My father will not let you get away with this,” she spat through clenched teeth.

Throwing his head back, Villena roared a laugh. “Oh, sweet girl. Your father will do nothing. He would not believe you over me. Especially not when Master Urias, of the Crows, is one of my closest associates. I will give you until we leave to make your decision. Choose wisely.” Still chuckling to himself, he strode away, arms welcoming another noble with a gracious smile and a kiss on the cheek.

A wet splash hit her hand. Realizing her arm was trembling, Roselyn set the glass down on a nearby table. _If I don’t go, he will continue to abuse Mari. Maker, did he say his companions are fond of her? Does that mean..._ A wave of nausea rolled through her as she considered the implications of his words.

“Are you alright, Lady Arceneaux?” Leliana softly approached her, taking in her stricken gaze and shaking form.

“Help me, Sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Her asshole family is baaaack.


	11. The Lion Returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Maxwell hunched over in the plush chair, elbows resting on his knees, head balanced on his fingertips. It had been a shock to all when he, Lady Morrigan, Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric had fallen through the eluvian in the small room off the garden, dragging an unconscious Samson, General of Corypheus' army, along. Roselyn’s breath had caught in her throat, fretting over whether or not Corypheus had fled or turned his fury onto the Inquisition’s army camped just outside the temple. Where Cullen remained. A raven had been sent out that morning, winging over the Frostbacks to deliver the news to the camp, so the earliest they expected a reply was two days hence. It would be the longest two days of her life.

“So I can’t just throw them out?”

“I’m afraid not, Inquisitor,” Leliana sighed, glancing at Roselyn apologetically. “Both Lord Araneta and Lord Villena have many ties to multiple Antivan princes as well as several Free Marcher cities, Orlesian nobles, and Nevarran royalty through their business dealings. These are powerful men. We must tread carefully.”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not letting them take Lady Arceneaux or her son. Cullen would skewer me, Herald or not.”

The spymaster pressed her lips together to stifle her giggle. “I’ve been doing some digging regarding their holdings. Some points of interest have come up, but nothing substantial I can use. My agents are still searching for more leads. At least until Corypheus is defeated, they cannot touch you. You swore an oath to the Inquisition’s service, and although we could release you from it if you so wished, we will not solely because they demand it. That should buy us some time.” She reached over the table and squeezed Roselyn’s hand. “Have faith, my lady.”

“I am trying,” she murmured. _I just want Cullen to be back. I could face this if he were by my side._ “Thank you all, for all that you are doing. I know there are more important things than my and my son’s fate.”

“Nonsense,” she smiled. “You are our friend, and we protect our friends.”

Friends. She had had friends before, of course, but they were friends more in the way of allies. Allies in a deadly Game where one would turn on another in a heartbeat if they thought it would gain them an advantage. To have friends like these, who would put themselves at risk for no other reason than to ensure she was safe, and happy… Tears rose unbidden to her eyes. Maxwell stared at her in horror, fumbling for a handkerchief.

Offering him a small smile, she took the square cloth and dabbed at her eyes. “You are all too kind. Nicholas and I are blessed to have been led into your lives.”

“Have they bothered you any since the supper?” Maxwell leaned back, relieved that she had been crying for happiness, not sorrow or terror. He couldn’t stand to see women cry, especially such a sweet person as her.

“No. It’s rather odd. They keep to the main hall, visiting with the other nobles, conducting business I presume. Mariana follows Villena around, like a meek puppy.”

“Your poor sister,” Leliana murmured. “We cannot leave her to that fate. I must find something.”

“If anyone can, it’s you,” the Inquisitor grinned.

***

A note had arrived two days after that conversation, fervent relief etched into the hastily penned words at news of the Inquisitor’s safety. But more importantly, it read that Cullen would be riding ahead, along with Josephine and the rest of the inner circle. Maxwell estimated that they should be here within the week.

_Just another week. Then Cullen will be back, and maybe Leliana will have found something by then._

“Mama!” Nicholas flew down the stairs, into the garden where Roselyn sat playing chess with Dorian. “Grandfather said he was taking me back to Antiva when he leaves!” Roselyn stilled, paling to a ghostly white. Her son yanked on her arms, demanding for her to pull him into her lap. Acquiescing, she lifted him up as he threw his skinny arms around her neck and buried his face in her chest. “I don’t wanna go, Mama. Grandfather is scary. And he said the Commander wouldn’t come with us. I don’t wanna leave him!”

 _Oh, no_. “Nicholas. Did you mention the Commander to Lord Araneta?”

“Uh-huh. I said the Commander wouldn’t be happy if we left without saying goodbye, because he loves you and you love him. Right? Don’t you, Mama?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stomp down the tidal wave of fear that was attempting to drown her. “Roselyn,” Dorian murmured. “He’s coming over here.” Eyes flying open, she stared in horror as her father crossed the garden, Lord Villena in tow, expressions thunderous.

“Will you excuse us, Dorian? Nicholas, you as well.” Glancing over at Roselyn, who jerked her head in the tiniest of nods, Dorian stood up smoothly, taking the boy’s hand, venturing just out of sight of the men, determined to remain nearby in order to protect his friend if need be. 

“What is this I hear of the Commander and yourself?”

Drawing a shaky breath into her tightening lungs, she pushed herself up, attempting to straighten her spine. He may still be her father, but he was no longer her guardian. And she would see Villena to the Void before she let him claim that title over her. “You heard that he and I are in love.”

“You dare besmirch your late husband’s name?!”

“I dare nothing,” she snapped. “Raphael is dead, Maker rest his soul, and I do not own you an explanation of who I choose to share my affections with.”

“Share your-” Lord Araneta took a menacing step toward her, fists clenched at his side. “You share your bed with him? Have you no shame?”

“Where he is concerned, I do not. He is a good man, brave, and just, wholly deserving of my love.”

“He is the son of a farmer. He is beneath you.”

“No, Father. This behavior of yours, your company that you keep,” she glared at Lord Villena, whose eyes narrowed dangerously at her, “That is beneath you. Do you know what he does to Mariana? Do you even care that he passes her around like a common prostitute against her will? Or that he desires me?”

Villena chuckled. “Oh, my dear. It seems her ego has gone to her head, Philipe. You are pretty, yes, but my Mariana is also a beauty, and the mother of my future child. Making up such wild tales, tsk tsk,” he shook his head chidingly.

Lord Araneta hesitated. “Is there any truth to what she said, Fernando? I confess I have been worried for my Mari. She is not herself as of late.”

“My friend, it is merely her pregnancy that ails her. Ask her yourself, she would not dare lie to her own father.” As her father nodded, turning back to face Roselyn, Villena shot her a triumphant smirk.

“No, Father, he is lying!” she begged, voice rising hysterically.

“Enough!” the older man roared. “You obviously are not fit to remain alone, touched in the head as you are. The grief over losing Raphael, I suspect. You will accompany us back to Antiva. We leave tomorrow.”

Terror suffused her very bones, heart stuttering within her chest. Her blood was a dull echo inside of her head. “I will not.”

“Excuse me?”

Steeling herself, Roselyn clenched her fists. “You do not own me. You gave up that right when you had me shipped off to Orlais, trying to get rid of your shameful whore of a daughter. I will not go with you. And neither will my son.”

“Your son. The bastard. And you, the slut who doesn’t even know who the father is,” Villena jeered. Eyes spitting fire and highly put out by his words, she did something most uncharacteristic of her noble self. She spat in his face. “Why you-” The furious lord raised his hand, ready to strike her down for the offense. Bracing herself, she waited for the blow. It never came. Instead, a heavy gauntleted hand grabbed his wrist, wrenching him back. “Who the bloody hell are you? This is no matter of yours, ser knight.”

“It is every bit my concern, my lord. That is my fiancée you attempt to strike, and my son you attempt to insult.” Cullen’s amber eyes blazed with a fury she had never seen before.

“Your son, ser?” Lord Araneta’s brow furrowed as he examined the seething man in front of him.

“Yes, mine. Now if you will excuse us, my lords, I am taking Lady Roselyn back inside.”

“I am not done with the harlot,” Villena snarled.

Cullen snapped. Whirling around on the smaller man, broad and travel stained and intimidating, he loomed over the Antivan. “She is done with you. Come, my love.”

Roselyn hurried to tuck her arm through his, feeling his hand clamp down around hers as he hauled her with surprising tenderness up to her room. “Cullen, how did you get here so fast? I thought you weren’t expected for another week?”

Closing the door behind him, he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Leliana wrote me to explain the situation here. I wanted to get here as quickly as possible, so I rode ahead alone before the others, switching horses often.”

“Have you slept or eaten since you left, my love?” Worriedly, she traced a soft hand across the dark circles under his eyes, cupping his rough, stubbled cheek.

“You were more important than something as mundane as food or rest,” he grinned. “Ah…” A creased dug into his high brow, face sobering. “I am sorry I claimed Nicholas as my son in front of everyone. I know I promised you I wouldn’t, and… I don’t know what came over me. If either of you suffer because of my uncouth behavior, I-”

Roselyn leaned up to press a kiss against his lips, silencing his apology. “I’m more interested in the other thing you said,” she whispered against his skin.

“What else did I say? I said that he was my son and you- Oh.” Squeezing his eyes shut, Cullen panicked. He called her his fiancée. _What must she be thinking right now? She’s probably furious, or appalled, or laughing at me, or- smiling? She’s smiling?_ Gazing down at her emerald eyes, gold motes sparkling with delight, he felt the ground fall from beneath his feet. Wrapping his arms tenderly around her waist, he leaned back down to kiss her again, a sweet, longing touch full of promise. “I wanted to ask you. It was all I could think about on my ride up here. I wanted to wait until after Corypheus is defeated, but I… I want to ask you. But not now. Let me do this right, for you.”

The timbre of his voice, rich and warm, sent a shiver down her spine and a flutter through her heart. “Alright. I’ll wait. Impatiently, I might add, but I shall wait. I assume it will be worth it,” she grinned. He laughed at that, a deep laugh that rumbled through his chest and stomach.

“I promise you, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it worth it for you. I love you, Roselyn.” Humming happily, she pulled him back down, peppering his rough face with kisses and tiny caresses. “Sweetheart, I’m filthy. I need a bath.”

“I don’t care,” she mumbled, drawing his earlobe in between her teeth. “I need you, Cullen.”

She would be the death of him. And oh, what a sweet way to go, lost in her arms, drowning in her scent, suffocating in her love. He would forever be unworthy of her, but he’d be damned if he ever let her go. His roaming hands slowly bunched up her skirts, letting her push him toward the sofa across the room. Stumbling, he felt himself fall back onto the soft cushions, Roselyn never removing her lips from his as she climbed onto his lap, settling her core over his erection, her heat scalding even through the layers of fabric, and grinding down. Her hair fell loose as his hands plucked the pins free, reveling in the feel of her silken locks tangling around his fingers. “Maker’s breath, but you are perfect.” She chuckled a little at that, leaning back to gaze down, admiration shining in her face, nimble fingers tugging at the buckles of his armor. “Here, let me.” With the ease borne of years of practice, Cullen unfastened the leather straps, tossing the pieces to the side, letting them fall wherever they may with a loud clang.

Roselyn pressed her chest against his sweat soaked tunic, breathing in his scent of sword oil and dirt and musk that almost overpowered the familiar elderberry and oakmoss undertones, everything mingling together to an aroma that was completely him. A hot, wet mouth found her pulse point, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. Deciding she was too impatient to wait any longer, she leaned back, a tiny smirk on her face as she watched his eyes darken with lust, watching her untie the laces of his breeches, tugging them down just enough to free his hardening member, the head already swollen and leaking. A delicate finger swiped across the tip, gathering a single drop of bitter and musky fluid, her tongue slowly licking the digit clean. Cullen stared, transfixed, mind reeling as he struggled to reconcile the dichotomy of the proper, demure lady he knew in public with this wanton, obscene creature grinding against his lap.

“Roselyn…”

“Yes, my love?”

A growl vibrated from his throat as he lifted her hips, roughly shoving aside her smalls, sliding two fingers up into her wet heat. Moans filled the air as he discovered just how drenched she already was. Rubbing a thumb against her sensitive pearl, he set a slow pace with his other fingers, rubbing against her walls with a delicious curl, watching her face as her eyelids fluttered and her head lolled back. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, hips rolling against his hand.

“Cullen, I need you,” she whined plaintively.

“You’ve already got me,” he emphasized his point by adding a third finger, listening to her hiss at the burn.

“I need more of you.”

“How much more?” he leered.

“I need…” her face flushed, as the crude words danced on the tip of her tongue.

“Say it, Ros.” She shook her head. Raising an eyebrow at her, he withdrew her fingers, smirking at her outraged gasped. Her clit gripped between his thumb and forefinger, Cullen pinched, feeling her jerk and squeal. “Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“You’re a barbarian,” she muttered, averting her eyes, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Pulling her head down, he whispered in her ear, “You have no idea, love. Now, say it.”

Groaning, she buried her face in her hands. “FIne. I want you to fuck me.”

“With?”

“With your cock!” she yelled. Chuckling, he repositioned her hips over his.

“Was that so hard?” Without waiting for her answer, he began pressing himself inside her, torturously slow, inch by inch lowering her down until she was fully impaled on his length. A throaty moan heaved from her breasts, her toes curling at the sensation of being so full of him. Tentatively, she moved against him, grinding her pelvis against his, gasping at the sensation of his tip hitting that perfect spot inside her.

“Oh, sweet Andraste, Cullen.”

“Keep going love,” he muttered, keeping on hand on her skirts, holding them up so he could watch the place they were joined, where his cock disappeared inside of her. It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen. The rough pad of his thumb drifted down, circling slowly around her clit as she increased her pace, panting with the exertion. “That’s it, sweetheart. Fuck me, just like that.” She keened, his crude words fueling her passion even further. His thumb sped up, feeling her walls tighten around him, her eyes squeezing shut. “Look at me. I want to see you when you come. _Come for me, Ros_.”

It was his eyes that did her in. His pupils were blown so wide, they almost swallowed his wild eyes whole. She screamed, tiny pulses of electricity shooting down her veins, eyes locked on his as a tidal wave of feeling slammed into her, his hips picking up speed as she stilled, letting her ride out her orgasm for far longer.

Grunting, Cullen thrust upwards, holding her hips in place with his large hands, mesmerized by the sounds his flesh made when it collided with her, enthralled by her face, trembling with pleasure, pleasure he gave her. With a sharp cry, brokenly moaning her name, he came, locking her thighs against his, jerking as the thick spurts of seed shot up into her belly, dripping down around his cock, smearing onto their legs.

With a blissful sigh, she leaned her forehead against his, the sweat on both of their skin making it hard to keep still, his hands rubbing soft circles against her thighs. “Perhaps one of these days we’ll make it to a bed, less our clothes.”

His chuckle shook her body, his arms holding her tight against him. “I love you, Ros. Maker, I need a bath. I don’t know how you’re not fainting dead away at the smell of me.” Pretending to sniff him, he recoiled in horror as she started giggling.

“You smell like you, Cullen. I happen to like the way you smell. Fine, go bathe and prepare yourself. And take a nap. I suspect there shall be another war fought within these halls before the day is done.”

“A battle I intend to win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHA TAKE THAT VILLENA! And more smut. I should just accept this fic is basically just porn with plot at this point. AND I'M NOT SORRY.


	12. Secrets of the Nightingale

Roselyn found her son in the library, curled up asleep in Dorian’s arms, the latter awkwardly patting his dark head. “There you are,” he whispered, shifting slightly. “I figured it’d be best to give you two some time alone. I must warn you, he heard everything.”

“Oh no.” Leaning over, she swept his curls off his face, her heart wrenching at the sight of him, tears dried in a path down his soft cheeks, still round from baby fat, nose still stuffy from his sobs. “Did he say anything?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. He was rather confused by the idea that the Commander is his father. Would you like him? Not that I mind, but I really need to go find a privy.” With a rueful smile, she nodded, gently taking the child from him and settled herself into the plush chair, Nicholas automatically snuggling into her comforting scent. A lullaby hummed from her lips as she held her son, wishing she could take his pain upon herself, a tear forming at the corner of her eye as she reflected on how big her baby boy had gotten.

_“A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain, softly blows o'er lullaby bay.  
It fills the sails of boats that are waiting- waiting to sail your worries away.”_

Cullen found them there later, hair slicked back, still damp from his bath, dressed more formally than usual in a pair of black leather trousers, and a formfitting burgundy tunic. He felt his heart melt, seeing them both asleep, her body tucked around his protectively, his little hand clutching her hair. His family. His beautiful, perfect, little family. He was loathe to wake them, but Josephine had arrived, taking over the situation, and bade them all attend a meeting that was to take place in an hour.

“Roselyn, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear, trailing his hand across her velvet cheek.

“Hmm?” she sleepily blinked, a slow smile spreading across her lips as she gaze up at him. “Hello, handsome.”

“I hate to wake you, but Josephine and Leliana have called a meeting with your father and us in an hour. I know you must be starving. It’s best to do this sort of thing with food in your belly.” Yawning, she nodded, gently shaking the boy.

“Nicholas? Darling, wake up. Are you hungry?” His small head nodded against her, not bothering to look up. “Well, come on, then. Let’s go find a snack, shall we?”

“Mama?” His tiny voice quavered. “Is the Commander really my father?”

Cullen froze, heart completely stopping, the blood in his veins slowly to a sluggish pulse. Roselyn caught his terrified eyes, smiling reassuringly at him. “He is.”

“But what about Father?”

“Raphael was a good man who took us in, gave us a name. He is still your father as well, love. But it is Cullen’s blood that resides in you.”

Nicholas eyed the larger man, who was still paralyzed standing there before them. “What shall I call you then? Papa? Father?”

Swallowing nervously, Cullen kneeled in front of the chair they were sitting on. “You may call me whatever you want, Nicholas. Papa is nice, but if you prefer, you can call me Cullen, or anything else.” The boy solemnly considered this for a minute, thinking hard before extending his hands out. Surprised, his father lifted him up into his arms, chest tightening at the way the child’s arms wrapped around his neck. Closing his eyes, he swallowed again, fighting the lump that had surfaced, savoring the sensation of the small weight that snuggled up against him.

“Papa, then. Papa? Will you teach me to fight with a sword like you?” 

It was useless to try to hold back his emotions. Tears poured down his face as Cullen clutched his son tight, answering in a gravelly voice, “I’ll teach you everything I know.” Roselyn watched the pair, having lost her own battle to her tears, her cheeks turning sore from the huge grin on her face.

Pulling back, Nicholas frowned at the man’s tears. “Papa? Why are you crying?”

Sniffling, he chuckled, running his fingers through the black curls, the polar opposite of his own blonde hair. “Because I’m happy, son. Now come on, let’s go raid the larder.” Together the little family made their way down to the kitchens, stealing a few rolls and leftover ham from a stern cook. They took their stolen bounty to eat under a small tree, just outside the stables, listening to their son as he fired off question after question.

“Papa, will you teach me to ride? Can I have my own horse? Do you have your own horse? Can we stay with you? Where do you live? Do I have to go back to Orlais? Can I be a soldier like you? Why are apples red? Did you know that nugs have really soft noses? Can I have a pet nug?” Roselyn giggled, watching Cullen splutter, trying to answer the barrage all at once.

Suddenly, the ground shook, as a blinding light ricocheted off the clouds above, the peaceful blue fading to a sickly green. Nicholas screamed, throwing himself into his father’s arms. “The Breach,” Cullen croaked. “Corypheus must have reopened it. Roselyn, get inside, now.” Without hesitation, she picked up her skirts, running into the keep, an eye tossed over her shoulder on her son in her lover’s arms. “Stay here,” he ordered once they were in the main hall. “I’ll come back when I can.” Nodding, she silently held her son tight, surrounded by the other panicked whispers and wails within the keep, noticing her father and sister sitting together at the far end of the chamber, unaware of her presence.

Dorian strode into the room, dressed for battle, his staff securely fastened to his back. “Looks like this is it,” he casually remarked as if he were commenting on the weather, not the end of the world.

“Dorian, be careful. Maker go with you, my friend.” She reached out a hand, grasping his firmly, willing him to be safe.

“Always, my dear,” he winked before turning away, headed to the others of the inner circle that were gathered just outside the double doors. From across the hall from where she sat, a door slammed open, the Inquisitor marching out, head held high, face set and determined, his sword and shield hanging from his body.

“Corypheus’ reign of terror ends today,” he announced in a booming voice. “Together, we ride to topple this so-called god, and prove to him that the people of Thedas do not recognize his authority, nor do we submit to his rule! We shall prevail!”

A loud cheer went up, following Maxwell Trevelyan out of Skyhold, the shouts echoing through the valley below. He carried with him all of their hopes and dreams.

“Those who oppose thee shall know the wrath of heaven. Field and forest shall burn, the seas shall rise and devour them, the wind shall tear their nations from the face of the earth. Lightning shall rain down from the sky, they shall cry out to their false gods, and find silence.”

“A prayer?” She looked up at Cullen, nodding.

“Andraste’s words seemed appropriate right now,” she murmured. “What else is there to do?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, dropping to sit beside her. “Now, we wait.”

***

Cullen spent that night with Roselyn, facing each other, heads resting on their pillows, fingers intertwined, their son tucked in between them. Neither of them slept, simply choosing to spend the dark hours staring into each other’s eyes, memorizing each and every freckle, pore, and wrinkle. Just in case. Just in case this was the last moment of peace they had. Three days had passed, and the Breach grew still, swallowing the sun in a haze of serpentstone turmoil. The Inquisitor and his party would reach the Temple of Sacred Ashes today, or perhaps they already had.

His thumb rubbed slow circles into her hand. “Do you remember the night we first met? Afterwards, when we fell asleep together. I think I fell in love with you then.” She smiled. Maker’s breath, but he loved her smile. Without fail, every time she turned that luminous gaze on him, his stomach knotted up, all the moisture left his mouth, and his hands grew shaky. All with just a single look. He still could not comprehend how she was here with him.

“I think I fell in love with you the moment you sat down beside me,” she whispered. His face was transcendent in his joy, her heart fluttering wildly at the sight. “Do you believe in fate?”

“I do now.” He curled his head down, pressing a kiss to Nicholas’ hair, breathing in the sweet scent of lemons from his soap. The moonlight cast a shadow over his sleeping form, dark eyelashes sweeping against his cheek. 

_Moonlight?_ Craning his neck backwards, Cullen stared at the window. The twin moons cast a bluish white light over the dark room, stars twinkling merrily in the clear sky. _The Breach. It’s gone. He did it._

“Cullen,” Roselyn gasped, just as shouts echoed from outside the room. “We won. The Inquisitor sealed the Breach. Does that mean…?”

“It’s over. By the Maker, but the war is finally over.” With a loud whoop, Cullen rolled over on top of his lover and son, pressing kisses over every spare inch he could find, rousing the boy with his affectionate tickles. Giggling, the two tried to squirm away, Cullen trapping them both within his muscled arms. “It’s over,” he sighed, capturing her lips in a long, sweet kiss.

“That’s gross,” Nicholas gagged. Laughing, his father stood up, sweeping the lad into his arms and spun him around in jubilant circles. 

“Come on, let’s go join the others. I expect a raven will arrive within a few hours with their status.”

“I do hope they’re all well,” she bit her lip, frowning out the window.

“Me too, love.”

Quickly making themselves presentable, the Commander offered his arm to his lady, Nicholas claiming his other hand. Together, they descended into the main hall, where the celebration was already underway. Josephine nodded to the little family, a tense smile lining her elegant face, kept in suspense until word of her Maxwell reached her, telling her he was safe.

“I’m sure he is well, Lady Josephine,” Roselyn murmured, taking the Antivan’s hands into her own.

“Ah, yes,” she cleared her throat. “I am sure he is. There is just so much to do, and we must send out invitations for a celebratory ball, and Andraste help me, these curtains must be replaced, dreadfully out of the current season, as you know, and-”

Lord Araneta chose that moment to come stomping up to the women, ignoring every shred of self preservation he possessed as the Commander all but growled at the noble, demanding imperiously, “Corypheus has been defeated, my daughter’s oath to the Inquisition has been fulfilled. Our servants will attend to collecting her things. Roselyn, we leave this afternoon.” Turning to eye the blonde soldier with disgust, he sneered, “Was there something you wished to add? Or would you just prefer to resort to your Ferelden barbarian ways again, Commander?”

“Would you prefer I stood aside and allowed Lord Villena to assault your daughter?” Cullen snarled, taking a step forward, Josephine’s eyes widening in fear.

Araneta waved the accusation away. “Fernando would not have truly hit her, he is not that sort of man.”

“How can you be so blind, Father?” Roselyn stared at the man, shock evident in her low tone. 

“Enough! You will come with me. Do not trifle with me, Ambassador, Commander. My name grants me many allies, allies you would do wise to take heed of.”

“Are you threatening the Inquisition?”

Lord Villena sauntered up, smug smile on his face. “It’s clear to me that the grief from losing her dear husband is affecting Lady Arceneaux’s judgement. None of you no longer have any hold over her. To keep her from us would be an act of kidnapping.”

Josephine gaped at the men, trying to run through their limited options in her head. She had not realized they would resort to the threat of the Crows just to take their daughter back. Her eyes were frantic as she watched the Commander, every bit the imposing leader of armies, looming over the nobles. She could not allow him to make the situation worse.

“Commander, perhaps we should-”

“Like hell I’ll do anything for these bastards!” he roared, whirling on the petite Antivan. Roselyn tugged at his arm, tears glimmering on her cheeks.

“Cullen, I can’t risk others getting hurt because of me. Please.”

“Roselyn.” He stared at her, dumbfounded, trying to process what she was telling him. She was going to go? Leave him? Willingly?

“Perhaps we should move this to a more private area?” a new voice called. A redheaded woman, face hidden by a deep purple cowl cautiously approached the group, hands clasped neutrally behind her back. “Please, if you’ll come with me, we can discuss this further like civilized folk.”

“There is nothing more to discuss,” Villena spat. “The woman and her brat come with us.”

“My _son_ ,” Cullen thrust his face mere inches away from the other man’s, “Has a name. As does Lady Roselyn.”

“Commander Rutherford!” Sister Nightingale’s voiced rapped sharply. The bulging veins in his forehead twitching violently, he spun around, grabbing Roselyn’s hand.

“Sofia,” she called to her maid, who was hovering anxiously nearby, “Will you take Nicholas?” Nodding, the woman drew the boy away, his frightened eyes watching as the adults disappeared.

“Let this farce end,” Lord Araneta huffed as they were all led into a modest room, the only furnishings a smooth wooden table with several chairs placed around it. It was a chamber well suited to diplomatic negotiations. Or interrogations.

“I agree,” Leliana smiled brightly. “As you said, Lady Arceneaux’s contract with the Inquisition has been completed with the defeat of Corypheus. She is free to leave, and under Antivan law, as her father, her guardianship passes to you.”

Roselyn paled at that, unaware that she was still bound under the laws of her homeland. “What?!” Cullen roared, slamming his fists down on the table. “Leliana, you cannot-”

She silenced him with a regal wave of her hand. “Patience, Commander. As I said, you are free to take her.”

“Thank you for seeing reason, Seneschal,” Lord Villena bowed, his victory dancing in his cruel eyes.

“However…” The spymaster smiled secretively as she pulled out a bundle of papers. “By the power invested with the Inquisition, we cannot allow you to walk out of here a free man, Fernando Villena.”

“I beg your pardon?” the nobleman drew himself up. “Do you have any idea who I am? I-”

“I am very much aware. You have close ties to Princes Calvente, Ozuna, and Marron of Antiva, Duke Pentgahast of Nevarra, nineteenth in line to the throne, Duke Allons of Starkhaven, Duke Lanoux of Orlais, and Magisters Olivarius and Corvus, not to mention countless of other lesser nobility throughout Thedas, as well as more… discreet connections with the Antivan Crows and the House of Repose.”

“Then you should know I am not a man to be trifled with,” Villena glared at the woman, upper lip curling in his fury.

“Hmm,” Leliana smiled, shuffling the papers. “Did you know Emperor Gaspard has given us the authority to deal with any and all matters that pertain to Corypheus and his armies? That includes his red templars, the Venatori, spies…” her eyes glittered, watching his bravado falter just the slightest bit, “And the merchants who chose to do business with him.”

“Fernando?” Lord Araneta swung his gaze toward the younger man, eyes opened wide. “Is this true?”

“Of course not!” he spluttered. “They are merely reaching for excuses. I will not be a party to this.”

“Oh, but you already are.” She threw the papers on the table. “Signed and witnessed confessions, plus trade manifests and receipts with your signature and seal. Records of red lyrium that you shipped for the Venatori, weapons and armor you provided to Samson, and slaver’s logs for the poor innocents you sold and transported for their red lyrium mines.”

Villena’s face paled to an ashen white, looking as if he were a corpse propped up on the table, the only sign of life, his heaving chest. Swiftly snatching the papers up, he ripped them all in two with a mighty heave. “No one will believe you.”

“Au contraire, my lord. Do you really think those were the only copies? Here, I have another for you. A letter of refusal of extradition, signed by Emperor Gaspard, Princes Calvente, Ozuna, and Marron, Dukes Pentaghast, Allon, and Lanoux, and Magisters Olivarius and Corvus. All deferring to the Inquisition’s authority in the matter of sentencing one Lord Fernando Villena, for crimes against Thedas and the Maker himself. How do you plead?” Roselyn struggled to hide her grin, raising her hand to shield her inappropriate behavior. Cullen had no such qualms, positively beaming at his new favorite spymaster.

“I was set up!” Villena shrieked. “I was framed! I did none of these!”

“I see, of course you were. Guards?” Leliana called through the door, waving several soldiers in. “Please escort Lord Villena to the dungeons to await the Inquisitor’s return.” Saluting, the men frogmarched the screaming, hysterical man out, his shouts echoing down the halls for several minutes before finally fading. “That went well. Now, Lord Araneta…”

The older man held up his hands in a pleading gesture. “Please, Sister. I had no idea of Fernando’s involvement in all that. I truly am innocent in this.”

“I believe him, Sister Leliana,” Roselyn murmured softly, her father trembling as he regarded his daughter.

“Thank you, daughter.”

“I believe you as well,” Leliana frowned. “However, you suspected there were things amiss, so I’ve heard from a few other witnesses. Yet you chose to do nothing. Why?”

“Fear,” he muttered. “Fear is a powerful thing. Fear of losing my home, my wealth, my very life. It is a shameful thing I did. Mariana…” he glanced at Roselyn. “He was truly abusing her, wasn’t he?” She nodded, tears dripping down her face. “Maker, what have I done? I will accept whatever judgement you wish to pass on me, Seneschal.”

“It is not my judgement to give. For now, you will be held in your rooms until Inquisitor Trevelyan returns. He will decide. Guards?” Silently, Lord Araneta followed his jailers out of the room, eyes hollow and defeated, pausing once in front of the man next to his daughter.

“Commander, I…” His brow furrowed. “Thank you. For protecting my daughter. She is lucky to have one such as you as her champion.”

Cullen watched, nose wrinkled in confusion, as the door shut behind them. “Well, that was bracing,” Leliana clapped her hands gleefully. “Lady Arceneaux? Are you alright?”

Roselyn shook her head. “It’s quite a shock. I knew Villena was a horrid man, but to ally himself with Corypheus…”

“At least you are free now to do as you wish,” Josephine smiled, still reeling from the admiration for her Orlesian friend’s display.

“Yes,” she smiled up at Cullen, still delighted with the proceedings. “Yes, I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to name this chapter "Leliana's Smackdown: Take That Bitch"
> 
> Hushabye Mountain is my faaavorite lullaby. It totally exists in Thedas.


	13. Hand in Hand

Roselyn followed the Commander into his office, taking her time examining his personal library as he took care of a few missives that had accumulated on his desk. It mostly consisted of military strategy and history tomes, but she did manage to find one well thumbed copy of The Adventures of the Black Fox and a picture of… bees? With rather large derriéres. Peeking over her shoulder, Cullen groaned, snatching the parchment out of her hand. “Sera,” he grumbled by way of an explanation. “I, ah, have something for you.”

“Oh?” She followed him across the room, cocking her head at him in confusion when he motioned up the ladder.

“It’s up there,” his scar pulling his cheeky, unrepentant grin lopsided. Raising an eyebrow, she scaled the ladder, pulling herself up into his loft. _This is his… bedroom? Maker, there’s a hole above his ceiling!_ Giggling to herself, she watched as her lover carefully removed his armor, stacking it neatly on the dummy in the corner of his room.

“So, this present,” she purred, reaching her arms out to draw him close to her. Was he shaking? “Cullen, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he breathed. “Everything is perfect. There is only one thing that could make this day better.”

“A bed?” she teased.

Chucking, he rubbed his neck, shyly averting his gaze. “Well, that always helps. But…” he slowly lowered himself to one knee, tenderly taking her hands in his. She froze, heart beating a pounding staccato against her ribs, a horde of butterflies swarming her stomach. His honeyed whiskey eyes crinkled, gazing into her stare. “Roselyn Zarahya Arceneaux, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I cannot fathom living the rest of my life without you and Nicholas by my side. I know I do not have much to offer you. Even my heart has been scarred, only a weak, pitiful thing left. But what is left is yours, if you wish it. I swear to you I will always protect you and our son, that you will both be provided for, and that I shall love you both until the second I draw my last breath. Roselyn,” he swallowed, hands trembling as he pulled out a simple golden band, “Will you marry me?”

Roselyn was raised to be a lady, always demure, polite, and restrained. She was an expert at the Game, never failing to be armed with a clever retort and fancy words to impress and entertain. Her voice had been trained to be soft, alluring, even sultry at times. So when it came time for her words to really matter, to give an elegantly crafted response to her lover’s impassioned proposal, she did.

“Yes!” she squeaked. Laughing, she threw herself down at the man at her feet, tackling him to the rough wooden floor, peppering his face with a thousands kisses. “Yes, yes, a thousand yeses!”

“Yes?” he whispered, cradling her face in his hands, stilling her wildness. “Even though I have no title?

“I want to be Mistress Roselyn Rutherford. I don’t care about the rest,” she surged forward, demanding he kiss her, her lips roaming over his, fingers tugging at his shirt. “I just want you, Cullen. The bad, the good, everything, just you as you are, right here with me.”

“Maker’s mercy. You said _yes_.” He paused, committing her bright visage and the way she glowed as he slid the ring onto her finger to his memory. The kiss started innocently enough, a sweet press of soft lips. That is, until Roselyn dug her fingers into his hair and pulled. Hissing, he swung her up, depositing her in the center of his bed, covering her slender frame with own bulk, his sudden erection straining against his breeches.

“Commander? Are you in here?” Cullen groaned at the voice calling out to him from down below, burying his face in Roselyn’s hair. She giggled, pulling his head up to press a sweet kiss to his forehead.

“We shall have time later, my love.” 

The Commander of the Inquisition pouted, pushing himself upright. “Inquisitor. Did you need something?”

“Yes, I’m calling a meeting in the war room right now to discuss plans for troop allocations, now that Corypheus has been dealt with. I’ve received more reports of rifts in the Free Marches.”

“I’ll be right there, Inquisitor. I just need… a moment.”

Maxwell grinned, hearing the feminine giggle from above, followed by a deep hushing sound. “Of course, Commander. My apologies.”

“Duty calls,” Cullen groaned.

“Don’t fret, love. I’ll still be here when you’re finished,” she punctuated her sentence with a delicious, agonizing roll of her hips against his hardness.

Growling, he pinned her against the mattress. “Minx.” Her eyes widened as a wave of lust flowed through her, the sensation of being helpless to her attentions surprisingly arousing. “You like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Darkly chuckling, he nuzzled her ear.

“Oh, my sweet. I have so much more to show you. And the rest of our lives to do it.” Smirking, he stood up, humming with pleasure at seeing her spread out on his bed, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, her mouth opened in a perfect little circle. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“I await your pleasure, my lord,” she purred, eyes sparkling as she observed his sharp intake of breath.

“Oh, you have no idea,” he muttered, adjusting himself before sliding down his ladder. A lazy smile drifted across her face.

 _We’re getting married. I can scarce believe it. I wonder what Nicholas will say? Nicholas!_ Guilt wracked her mind as she realized her son was still with Sofia, oblivious to the events of the meeting. “Oh, Andraste forgive me,” she cried, scurrying down the ladder and across the battlements. Cutting through the now empty solar adorned with its painted murals, she raced into the main hall, skidding to a stop as she witnessed her son perched on the Iron Bull’s knee, sitting in front of the fireplace as they listened to Varric tell the tale of the defeat of Corypheus. His little face was wide with excitement, the tension from earlier all but forgotten from his young mind. She heaved a deep sigh of relief, smiling at the assembled group as she found a place to perch just outside of the circle, catching the grand finale of the battle.

“... and with a deafening roar, the Inquisitor flung himself from atop the crumbling column, teetering on the precipice of collapse, aimed straight at the twisted, ancient magister. Corypheus screamed his rage and anguish, the shrill sound echoing off the ruins of the Temple, reaching for the man, claws bared. “You shall not have him!” the mighty Seeker bellowed as she charged the demon, sword poised to strike him through his decaying flesh. The monster turned on her. “Don’t worry Seeker, I’ll save you!” a handsome, roguish dwarf called out. “Oh, Varric!” she swooned at the sight of his imposing chest hair. The dwarf kneeled, swiftly loading another crossbolt, took silent aim at the unsuspecting darkspawn and…. Pow! Right through his heart, giving the Inquisitor just enough time to rip open the Veil. “You want into the Fade, Corypheus?” he growled, muscles rippling through his tattered armor, “Let me help you!” The Anchor flared, brighter than the sun, rendering the would-be god into shattered bits, pulled piece by piece into the Beyond.” 

Roselyn stifled her giggle at the expression on Cassandra’s face as she listened to the retelling. “Ugh,” the Seeker muttered. “He is terrible.” But Lady Arceneaux caught the slight smile underneath her bluster.

“Mama! Did you hear the story? The Inquisitor is so awesome!” Nicholas came bounding up to her, giggling with excitement now that the story was over.

“He is, isn’t he? Come with me, my darling. I have something I wish to tell you.”

His face fell, tiny voice quavering as he asked, “Are we going to Antiva with grandfather, Mother?”

Sitting in a chair, she pulled her son into her lap. “No, we are not. Tell me. How would you feel about being a family with the Commander? If he and I were married?”

“Really?” His eyes lit up. “He does love you, I knew it, Mama! Does this mean I can stop my lessons?”

“No, I’m afraid you’ll still need to continue those. After all, the Arceneaux estate will be yours someday. You must have the knowledge so you are able to run it proficiently.”

“Does Papa have an estate?”

“No, love. He’s the son of a farmer.”

“Does that mean we’ll be moving to the country? Can I have a horse? And a chicken? Maybe two chickens?”

She stilled, unsure of how to answer. What would they do now that the Inquisition had fulfilled its purpose? Would he move back to Ferelden, take up a plow and shovel? Continue his military service? “You’ll have to ask your Papa that. I don’t rightly know. But you are happy with this? If we marry, and we stay here in Skyhold for now? We may move to a place much smaller than what we are accustomed.”

“That’s okay,” he shrugged. “It’s less house to run through every time I come to supper from my room.” A huge weight that she was not even aware of released her shoulders, the tension melting off her neck. Squeezing him to her chest, Roselyn laughed, delirious in her happiness.

***

They took supper in her rooms that night, Nicholas entertaining them with an animated retelling of Varric’s story that involved a lot more swords and dragons than the original. Keeping one hand on her leg for the duration of supper, Cullen traced swooping arcs against her thigh that inched ever higher, teasing her with the promise of things to come, while listening to the boy.

“Oh, Papa, where are we going to live? On a farm?”

“I… had not considered that, to be honest.” Taken aback slightly, he swung his gaze from his son to his fiancée. “There is still much to do with the Inquisition, dozens of rifts all over Thedas that must be closed, not to mention disposal of the red lyrium and capturing any remaining red templars or Venatori that are still lurking. What would you rather we do after?”

“It does not matter, love. A manse in Orlais or a cabin in Ferelden is all the same to me, as long as I have you both with me,” she smiled, dropping her hand to his.

He grinned his crooked smile, replying, “Well, we have plenty of time to consider it. We shall decide later. What of your estate in Val Firmin?”

“I plan on talking with Lady Josephine, to see if she can recommend someone to take over the affairs while I place Raphael’s holdings in a trust for Nicholas. When he is of age, it shall be waiting for him.”

“Don’t want it,” Nicholas grumbled.

“You can decide that for sure when you’re older. You may change your mind yet,” she ruffled his curls. “Now go get ready for bed.”

Huffing to himself, he scooted off his chair, heading for his room. “Papa? Will you read me a story?”

Cullen’s face lit up at the simple request. “Of course, son.”

Roselyn stacked the dirty dishes outside of her rooms for the servants to remove later, settling herself down on the sofa with her needlework as she listened to her future husband’s smooth baritone, punctuated here and there by the sweet, boyish gasps and giggles of their son. Never in a hundred lifetimes could she have imagined this would come to pass. That a random stranger she met, and uncharacteristically bedded, would be the love of her life. That they would meet again and that he would want to marry her. It seemed too much to ask for, so much better than her dream of the prince in shining armor she once dreamt of. Was it fate? A random bit of of coincidence? Whatever brought them together again, she owed her entire heart and soul to it.

“What are you thinking, love?” A deep voice rumbled from above her, leaning down to nibble her ear.

“I, ah, just contemplating the events that led us here,” she shuddered at the sensation of his hot breath blowing against her.

“You mean when you seduced me?” he chuckled. “For a blushing virgin, you had a positively filthy imagination.”

Her cheeks burned hot at that, biting her lip as she glanced down shyly. “I may have accidentally witnessed a few… lewd acts in my travels. It gave me ideas of what you might have liked. Also, I was intoxicated. Extremely so.”

“Hmm. Do you mean to tell me you watched another woman go down on a man? Watched as she drew his hard cock into her mouth, sucking and licking him to his pleasure?”

Roselyn whimpered at his dark tone, his fingers now tracing gentle lines across her throat, pausing briefly at the hollow of her neck. “I did. I looked away after I realized what was going on, I promise, Cullen.” He didn’t respond to that, merely leaned over and swiped his tongue along her flickering pulse, smiling against her skin as she gasped.

“Will you show me?” She turned back to face him, nose scrunched up in confusion. “Show me what that woman did?” Eyes wide, she nodded, letting him draw her into her- their bedroom. Stopping in the middle of the room, he faced her as he drew his tunic off, smirk fading as her fingers untied his trouser laces, tugging the fabric down around his knees.

“Oh,” she breathed, licking her lips in anticipation, skirts spreading across the floor as she fell to her knees. Roselyn glanced up at him as she wrapped her hands around his stiffened member, gently running her palm up and down the hot, velvety smooth length, marveling at the feel of him. His fists clenched at his sides, her featherlight grazes driving him to distraction. Hesitantly, she recalled what he had told her years before- stroke like this, lick like that. Her tongue flicked around his slit, lapping up the liquid already gathered there. Eyes narrowed at her, Cullen’s breath grew ragged watching her take him into her sweet, wet mouth, massaging his cock with her lips, swirling her tongue around the swollen head with enthusiastic abandon.

“Ros,” he groaned, tugging on her hair, “Just like that, Maker yes, I’m- fuck.” His hips snapped forward, gagging her as the tip filled her throat, his hands keeping her head locked into place. Her moans vibrated down his shaft, manicured nails digging half moons into his thighs, earning a drawn out hiss from her lover. “I’m not going to last like this, love,” he gasped. Her fingers clutched him tighter, spurring him on. With a shattered groan, Cullen felt his control snap, one of her hands coming up to tease his clenched balls, forcing him over the edge. No sound emanated from the man as he was frozen in a wordless cry, pulsing his seed into her waiting mouth, staring in awe at the beautiful lady who swallowed up every drop, licking every inch of his hypersensitive skin clean.

“Mmm,” she hummed, grinning like a pleased cat at his feet. Panting for breath, Cullen staggered to the bed, leaning against the post.

“Maker’s breath, Roselyn. You are… Maker.” She giggled and rose to her feet, shyly approaching him.

“How was that, my love?”

“How was-” he spluttered his disbelief, huffing a chuckle out. His hands tugged at the edge of her skirts, glancing up at her as if to ask her permission to disrobe her. Eyes dancing in anticipation, she smiled, slipping the gown off over her head herself. “You are incredible.” She was, truly. Especially in that corset, pushing her ample breasts up so deliciously, the curve of her waist so enticing, the damp, shadowed patch between her legs so tempting. “Turn around, love.” Obliging as always, she presented her back to him, sighing in relief as his fingers loosened her stays, breath and feeling returning to her torso. “Better?”

“Much,” she sighed, shimmying out of the garment, back still turned to him. Her fingers paused at the hem of her frilly smalls, suddenly overcome by apprehension. How long had it been since he had last seen her naked? And she was drunk that night, anyways. Now she was sober, older, her belly scarred from her pregnancy. What would be think?

“Roselyn,” his voice was low, pleading yet forceful. “Take it all off.”

The sound of him shivered through her, feeling the weight of his gaze on her naked spine. She took a deep breath and leaned over, slipping the last of her clothing off. 

Cullen felt his flaccid member spring to new life, staring at her exposed flesh as she bent over, her firm ass wiggling in the air as she stripped herself. Unable to help himself, he reached out to grab her hips, pulling her towards the bed, letting her fall backwards onto his lap. “Cullen!” she giggled. “What- ooh.” His warm arms wrapped around her waist, his fingers finding her pert nipples, teasing the sensitive buds as he nuzzled her neck.

“This is perfect,” he murmured, reveling in the feel of her naked flesh melting into his, her heavy breast fitting perfectly in his palms. Moaning, she pressed her back closer against him, his cock nestling snugly in the curve of her ass. 

“Please, Cullen…” Roselyn sighed as she felt his hand drift lower down her stomach, grazing the top of her pelvis, mere inches away from where she wanted him the most. Ignoring her tiny mewls, he let his fingertips graze over her stomach, along the crease where her legs met her hips, and up her inner thighs, always stopping short of her center. “Don’t tease me,” she begged.

“Why shouldn’t I?” his voice was hoarse, straining to keep his own control. “When I’ve had to walk around all day, knowing that you promised to be my wife, knowing that you would enjoy the things I want to do to you, while you pranced about, appearing the polished and poised lady to the rest of the world. When I know the truth.”

“The truth?”

Leaving her breasts alone, his left hand rose to lightly encircle her throat, stroking the smooth skin, the right hand descending to simply rest against her core, the heat scalding his skin. “The truth,” he grinned, choking her firmly yet gently as he plunged inside of her slickness, a fresh wave of arousal pouring over his hand. The effect was immediate- an arching of her back, a broken gasp from her lips, eyelids fluttering closed. “Oh, my love. You were made for me.” His grip released her throat as he watched her chest heave, panting for breath, her fingers still curled up inside of her, gently stroking her walls. “That’s it, Ros. Yield to me.” As if in a trance, her hand blindly reached up to cup his cheek, nails scraping lightly over his stubble.

“Do to me as you will, Commander.”

For such a large warrior, he moved with a speed better suited to a rogue. In less than a second, he had her thrown off her lap, into the bed, his broad figure covering hers, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Roselyn…” His eyes lightened for just an instant. “If it’s too much, tell me, alright?” She nodded.

“I trust you.”

“Maker’s breath.” Closing his eyes, he rested a moment, trying to understand how, or why, this creature had graced the likes of him with her faith and love. Cullen decided a heartbeat later that it didn’t matter, only that she did. With a swift lunge, he placed his cock at the entrance to her warmth, plunging himself in with one smooth stroke, not giving her time to accommodate to his substantial girth before he withdrew and thrust again, groaning as his balls slapped against her skin. She keened as he hilted himself deep inside of her, drawing her legs up around his waist to pull him even closer. “Tonight, Ros,” he hissed, “You will not come unless I tell you to. Understood?” Emerald and gold eyes regarded him hazily, curls rustling against the sheets as she nodded. “Good girl.”

With a grunt, he set about trying to destroy her self control, capturing her lips in a punishing kiss, lips forcefully taking hers, grinding against her clit with each thrust, pinching and pulling at her nipples. Breathy moans and gasps along with the impact of wet skin on skin were the only sounds filling the dark room. “Cullen, I- ah, sweet Andraste! Cullen, please!” she begged, face opened wide and frantic as she fought her growing pleasure.

“Not yet,” he gritted, struggling himself. Leaning back, he slipped out of her, smiling at her whimper at the loss of him. “On your stomach.” She instantly obeyed, flipping to rest on her arms and knees. His palms splayed against her upper back, pushing her front further down until only her ass was in the air, open to his inspection, dripping onto the bed. “Maker, look at you like this. Absolutely filthy, aren’t you? I could have you begging for my cock, you know.” He ran a finger along her seam, teasing at the pink folds.

“Yes, please, please Cullen, I need you!”

“Need me to do what?”

“I need you to fuck me with your cock,” her response came without hesitation this time. Cullen grinned at her back, bending over instead.

“In a bit, pet.” Chuckling at her indignant squeak, he surged forward, fingers spreading her cheeks wide as his mouth fastened over her arousal, tongue lapping up every bit of cream, tasting of her musk and sweetness with a hint of his bitterness. This was better than lyrium, better than any other drug that could ever be invented. Here he was surrounded by her, warm thighs pressed against his head, her scent invading his senses, her cries echoing in his ears. This was heaven made into reality. Slowly, he pulled her back up to her peak, feeling her muscles begin to clench. “Hold it,” he murmured.

“I can’t, please, oh please, Cullen, I need-”

Growling, he bit softly at her clit, wrenching a muffled shriek from her lips. “Not. Yet.”

She didn’t hear him. Bucking against his face, she came hard, juices flowing from her lips, spasming around his tongue, his name a prayer on her tongue. He pulled back, waiting patiently as she fell back to the present, gasping for air into the mattress. “I-”

“You. Are a naughty girl, Roselyn. What am I to do with you?” His tone was cool, polite even. Fretting, she turned back to observe him. Cullen’s eyes were narrowed at her, the tiniest of smirks playing at the edge of his lips. _He’s enjoying this. Maker preserve me._

“Whatever you wish, ser,” she murmured, lowering her gaze. “I am but yours to command.” A warm hand came up to rub her buttocks, smoothing over her skin.

“Yes. You are.” With that, a palm landed against her cheek, making her squeal in shock. “Hush.” He pulled a thick fur over their bodies, muffling the sounds from their son in the nearby room.

“What-” Slap. Slap. The steady sound his hand spanking her rapped sharply in her ears, her breath warming the air as she moaned, feeling her skin heat and desire pool in her belly, building her up again. Just as she thought she could take it no more, he ceased, pressing soft kisses instead to the abused flesh, running his tongue over the marks left by his hand.

“You are mine, Roselyn.”

“Yes,” she wailed. “Yours, only yours, Cullen, please!”

Throwing the fur off, he impaled her on his throbbing cock, precome weeping from the purple, swollen head, giving her no mercy as he took her, desperate to feel her around him once more. “I love you,” he gasped, sliding hand up to wrap around her throat again. Her bright eyes stared back at him with wonderment and lust, her fingers wrapping around his wrist as he restricted her airflow. “Come for me, Roselyn. Now.”

If she had been able to, she would have screamed again, feeling him unravel inside of her. As it was, she could only manage a rasping gasp, her body obeying his commands as her orgasm flooded her body, walls spasming around his pulsing cock, drawing his seed deeper into her womb as they rode out their mutual pleasure, lost in a fog of sweat, their shared arousal, and love for one another.

“Maker, that was…” he rested his forehead against hers.

“Perfect,” she lazily smiled, pulling him down for a sweet, welcoming kiss, pouring all of her affection for him into her lips.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I? I don’t think I could bear if it I did,” he murmured, searching her face for the truth.

“You didn’t,” she assured him. “I… Andraste forgive me, I loved it. Every moment.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Cullen pulled free of her body, ignoring the stickiness on their legs and stomach, tucking her body flush against his. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do. Just as I deserve you. We were meant for each other, I know that now. Sleep, my love.”

“Our wedding,” he sleepily whispered, feeling the Fade already start to claim him. “When do you want to have it?”

“As soon as possible,” she snuggled in closer, pillowing her head on his arm.

“Tomorrow?” he chuckled.

“Tomorrow,” she agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awwwwwww <3
> 
> A group of butterflies is actually called a kaleidoscope, but the phrase 'horde of butterflies' makes me think of pretty little bugs with orc teeth, wearing armor and wielding swords and spears, screaming as they gently flutter towards me. And I giggle.


	14. Forever in Her Eyes

It was a simple wedding, attended only by Lady Josephine as their witness, and of course, Nicholas, held in the gardens of Skyhold under a bright blue, cloudless sky. Roselyn’s burgundy silk dress, accent with gold lace on the skirts and bodice, fluttered gently in the breeze, matching Cullen’s own tailored military jacket and black slacks, identical to the uniform he wore at Halamshiral, so many months ago now. 

“You may kiss your bride.”

Nicholas gagged from beside them, sending his parents into laughter, the pair smiling fondly at their son. “I’ll spare the lad for now,” he grinned, voice lowering to a husky whisper, “But tonight, you are mine.”

“I am always yours, Cullen Rutherford. Now and forever.”

“That you are, Mistress Rutherford.” He placed a chaste, lingering kiss to her lips. “Shall we?” Accepting his extended arm, Roselyn thanked Mother Giselle and Josephine, watching Nicholas as he skipped on ahead of them, telling everyone he passed that his mama and papa just got married.

“Congrats, you two. I’ll tell you Curly, marriage looks good on you,” Varric grinned. “If anyone deserves a happy ending, it’s you.”

The Commander blushed, muttering his appreciation for the dwarf’s sentiment. “Maker’s breath.” He stopped dead in his tracks.

“What is it, love?” she asked worriedly.

Cullen groaned, lowering his face into his hands. “Mia. I never told my sister that we- and now we’re married, and… She’s going to murder me.”

“Probably,” Roselyn sighed. “Well? Come on, go write her now.”

“Do I have to?” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

“Commander Rutherford!” He turned to her, trying to hide his grin.

“Married not even six minutes, and already bossing me around, hmm?”

Laughing, she balanced on her tiptoes, kissing the tip of his nose. “I dare say you rather enjoy it.”

“Perhaps.”

***

The weeks settled into a peaceful routine, now that Corypheus was no longer a threat. The crowds of Skyhold had thinned a great deal, people returning to their abandoned estates and villages, eager to return to their lives. Fernando Villena had been shipped off to the mines in the Western Approach, all of his holdings absorbed into the Inquisition. Lord Araneta had been allowed to return to his failing business and estate, as his name was now forever tarnished by his association to the traitor. Mariana, weary of the abuse she had so recently endured, elected to enter into service with the Maker, pledging her own life and that of her unborn child’s to the Chantry. Cullen’s days were filled with considerable less stress, owing more than partly in fact to his beautiful wife and son, who joined him daily for lunch. He smiled, thinking of them both as he signed off on another requisition form, how lovely she looked that day with her hair unbound as he preferred it, dark curls cascading around her shoulders.

She had been ecstatic that day in particular, having been witness to her maid Sofia marrying one of his soldiers that morning in a ceremony not unlike their own. Roselyn was slightly depressed at the thought that her friend would be leaving someday to go back to her husband’s town, but that was still far off, as the Inquisition’s work was nowhere near completion. A breeze floated through his open window, disturbing his pondering, scattering a few papers. Grumbling to himself, Cullen bent over to retrieve the errant parchments, pausing as a drawing slipped loose. It was of a blonde stick man with a sword, a wavy haired stick woman in a dress, and a curly haired smaller stick figure between them, labeled in a child’s hand- ‘My Family’.

Cullen felt his throat tighten, tears burning behind his eyes. His wildest dreams had come true. He had a wife, a son. They were a promise that he would never be alone again, guaranteed to have them by his side, come what may. Family. They were his entire world.

“CULLEN STANTON RUTHERFORD! I know you’re up there! You get down here this instant!”

The Commander cringed. He knew that voice, knew that tone deep in his bones. Sheepishly, he tucked the drawing safely in his desk, straightened his fur mantle and attempted to look imposing as he crept out of his tower like a child caught raiding the cookie jar.

“Hello, Mia.”

Roselyn poked her head out of the door that led to the solar, curious as to what the commotion was. What she saw made her giggle. Her husband, the imposing, dominating, authoritative Commander of the Inquisition, wincing as a tiny woman, graced with the same blonde curls as he, scolded him thoroughly in front of his men, who were all gathering to watch the spectacle with glee. She ran back into the keep.

“...And then, after all those years, you write to tell me you have a son?! And you’re married?! I can’t believe you!”

“Sorry, Mia,” he muttered, head hung low. Catching a glimpse of something behind his sister, his face brightened. “But, ah, here she is. Mia, meet Roselyn. Love, this is Mia, my elder sister.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Roselyn murmured, instinctively dropping into a curtsy. Mia raised her eyebrow at that. “And this is Nicholas,” the Commander’s wife added, tugging a muddy child out from behind her. “Say hello to your Aunt Mia.”

“Hello, Aunt Mia,” he bowed smartly.

“Maker’s breath,” she muttered. “Cullen, he looks just like you.”

“More like Branson, I thought,” he grinned. “But… that is a sensitive topic. I shall tell you later, in private,” he added, glaring at the audience they had attracted. “Would you care to go inside, or stand out in the mud and yell at me some more?”

“Yell at you,” she stuck her tongue out at her little brother. “But I suppose we can go inside. Oh, wait a minute.” Pausing, the eldest Rutherford turned to examine her new sister-in-law. Roselyn held her breath as the other woman appraised her with a critical eye, taking into account her graceful bearing, polished accent, and mud that liberally streaked her arms and skirt from where she had been kneeling on the ground earlier, pulling weeds in the garden.

“Roselyn, is it? Welcome to the family. At least my brother has excellent taste.”

“That he does,” she impishly grinned at him. “Shall I show you to your rooms?”

***

That night, after Cullen tucked Nicholas into bed, the happy couple sat at opposite ends on the sofa in front of the fire, her legs in his lap, one of his hands resting on her knee, a novel in her hands and reports in his, content to simply be in each other’s presence. Her book ignored, she smiled as she watched him scan the documents, brow furrowing in concentration, brushing the feather of his quill against her lips, giving her ideas for later.

“Something the matter, love?” He noticed her staring at him, an unfamiliar emotion hiding behind her warm eyes.

“I…” Roselyn bit her lip, unsure of how to tell him.

“Yes?” he cocked an eyebrow at her, scar tugging his lip up into a lopsided smile.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out. Cullen stared.

“What?”

“With a baby. Obviously. I would guess… six weeks along?”

“A baby,” he breathed, reports forgotten, thrown onto the floor as he crawled over to her, pressing his face against her still flat belly.

“Is this something you wanted?” she asked nervously.

“This is… Perfect. Absolutely, perfect. I’m going to be a father. Again. Maker, you…” his lips seized her in a passionate kiss, arms wrapping her up tight as he laughed his happiness, amber eyes sparkling with delight. “And this time, you will be safe here, and pampered. No running around Thedas or being locked away in your room. I am going to give you the attention I should have when you carried Nicholas. No, I don’t care that I didn’t know back then, so hush. I love you. So much. And Nicholas. And this baby. And you.”

“You said that,” she giggled.

“It’s important. It bears repeating,” he replied loftily. “Every day. For the rest of my life, I believe. At least I can say one good thing came out of Kirkwall. It’s where I met you. I love you, Roselyn. With everything I am.”

“I love you, too, Cullen. Forever and always.”

 

 

And they lived happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! I so hope everyone enjoyed this short little story! Thank you so much for reading and all the comments and sweet words and the yelling along the way. I'm working on another Alistair/OC fic that is also pretty much just completely smut, soooo be on the look out for that starting sometime next week.
> 
>  
> 
> If you're looking for another AMAZING Cullen as a daddy/unplanned pregnancy fic, check out [0102and03](http://archiveofourown.org/users/0102and03/pseuds/0102and03) and her work Omnia Vincit Amor at http://archiveofourown.org/works/12588568/chapters/28672064.


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